


Loving Stupid

by SoleSurvivorPaigeArgot



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Actually addressing that Sole WATCHED THEIR SPOUSE DIE, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Casual Sex, Drugs, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Limb mutilation, Sexual Content, but like slow burn between FWB, ghoul x human, lowkey re-writing Hancock's romantic arc with Sole because I wanted to, radiation poisoning, rough language, technically slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleSurvivorPaigeArgot/pseuds/SoleSurvivorPaigeArgot
Summary: Paige [Sole Survivor] and Hancock venture into the Glowing Sea in pursuit of a lead on the Institute, when a catastrophic equipment failure forces them to separate.
Relationships: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	1. Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Why hello there, Ao3. It's been a long time. Usually, I exist on Fanfiction.net, but since getting into the Fallout fandom on Tumblr it would appear that the majority of writers [and readers] prefer Ao3, which has brought me to take the plunge and post my work here as well. I'll take this opportunity to post a couple caveats for the story, as well for myself in general. 
> 
> First and foremost, I write for the joy of writing. I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of Fallout, and do not aspire to. When I run into something I don't know, I google it and run with the first seemingly credible source google gives me. If I can find nothing conclusive, I fill in the blanks myself. If not being 100% loyal to the canon due to knowledge gaps is a deal breaker for you, I'd rather you click off of this story right now rather than get up in the comments about it. 
> 
> Second, my sole survivor, Paige, is who she is because she originally belonged to a story I never finished writing about a decade ago. She's who I built when I played Fallout 4 for the first time, and whom I 'played as' when the game presented choices. There's an OC who will appear a few chapters in who was also ported in from her story because I needed to fill the roll of a random settler and decided a character I already knew and associated with Paige was better than just inventing some person outta whole cloth. His name is Nathan. I did not realize until after I'd written him in that he has an unfortunate namesake with the default name for the husband of the Sole Survivor being Nate, and it didn't feel right to change Nathan's name because... well, he's been Nathan to me for more than ten years. Again, if this is gonna really rub you the wrong way, you know where the back button is. 
> 
> With that out of the way, there's only one thing left to say;
> 
> ON  
> WITH  
> THE  
> FIC
> 
> OWTF!

**.:_Sanctuary_:.**

“So these are your digs, huh? … can't say it's my speed.”

“Not historical enough?”

“Nah, it's...”

Paige watched Hancock's face twist as he struggled to pick out what word fit his distaste, ghoulish features creating sharp valleys along fault lines in leathery skin while the shiny dark of his eyes appraised the home she'd built atop one of the empty foundations of Sanctuary Hills.

It wasn't anything _special,_ wooden planks coaxed together into floors, walls, and roofing with nails and elbow grease. This was the only settlement where Paige had a place that was specifically _hers,_ where she kept the little knickknacks and oddities she collected; all dutifully looked after by Codsworth-- ever dedicated to his task two centuries after it had been assigned to him. She'd given _some_ life to the wooden bones of the shack, however; recycled fabrics became rugs and curtains with only mildly clashing patterns, and she even managed to cobble a number of worn out flannel shirts into a workable set of sheets for a double-wide bed that was, in truth, just a pair of smaller mattresses pushed together to _pretend_ they were a queen size.

What could she say? She liked to sprawl.

Generators lit up Sanctuary at night with bare bulbs, and her little shack was no different. It brought yellow light against the dark, and reflected off a multitude of glass bottles, lined up on the shelves of a bureau she'd rescued, mostly intact, from the home of a long-dead neighbor. Whiskey, vodka, wine-- she jokingly called it her liqueur cabinet, despite the thing not having doors to lock the alcohol behind.

She'd done her best to make this a where place she could sleep soundly, when she was in the area. It was little more than a bed, a roof, and a lot of junk on shelves, insulated from the outside world with some sewn-together fabric scraps... but stepping over the threshold always made her feel like she'd entered a sort of... _bubble._ Not _safe--_ nowhere was _safe--_ but... quiet.

She could _pretend,_ here.

“Comfortable.” Hancock decided, grousing out the word. “ _Damn near cozy--_ you put this together?”

“With my own two hands.” She informed him; trust Hancock to find an issue with _comfort--_ then again, she couldn't blame him. Comfortable people had a habit of being _complacent_ people, and they _both_ knew that was where a lot of ugliness could happen... but his opinion didn't stop her from stepping inside and divesting herself of the pieced together armor that she layered over a set of army fatigues, _reclaimed_ after clearing an old base of ferals. There was a wooden bin by the door for that stuff; she'd have to strap it all back on in the morning... but for now she was grateful to take a load off, starting with an enameled metal helmet.

“I've watched those hands beat faces to a bloody pulp. I didn't figure they could _sew.”_

She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she heard him trudge inside anyhow, metal door closing behind him, and set herself to the straps that kept her secured within the bits of metal and leather that frequently kept her _alive_ on the road. Left arm first, a metal shoulder piece coming loose, and the whole ritual making her feel as if she were shedding skin.

She didn't tell him that she might have been a _housewife_ a few centuries ago-- that was a different life. The idea that someone could live so cushy as to devote themselves to home-making and nothing else was a fever dream in this age, and while Hancock probably had enough chems in his pockets to _attempt imagining it,_ she didn't feel like trying to paint the picture for him.

She didn't want to know what he'd think of her, knowing just how... _comfortable_ she'd been.

“I'm a woman of many talents.” She snarked instead as another heavy piece of metal thumped into the bin, freeing up the shoulder beneath to roll and stretch. “Don't worry about getting _used_ to it-- this is a one night stop. First thing in the morning, I'm seeing to the upgrades on the armor, and then back on the-- _ah--”_

Hands-- surprisingly _strong_ hands despite withered skin that clung to spindly bones. She didn't know how that worked-- Hancock wasn't a big man, and the _ghoulishness_ made her think he'd be frail... instead he'd hefted a _flamer_ onto his back when he set out with her, and carried it from one end of the Commonwealth to the other without complaint. Finding those hands suddenly assisting with undoing the straps at her sides so that her chest piece could come loose was a surprise; simple and sure movements causing the scavenged military combat armor to come loose and slide forward. Without an anchor, it slid forward until the hard edge of the back plate caught on her neck and stopped it from simply falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Hancock's _hands_ had simply slid in along her ribs, pressing firmly into the rough fabric and reminding her that they were, for the first time in a while, _blissfully alone._

“ _I'm aware of that.”_

Her lips pressed together-- a low sigh was expressed with his rough whisper in her ear. She swore he _knew_ how much that got to her, despite her very deliberately _not telling him._ It was a struggle not to react, not to lean back as he reeled her in, those spidery hands easily finding their way upwards beneath the hanging breastplate and his chin perching on her shoulder. He'd pulled them together, his body against hers, and punctuated the move with a mischievous chuckle.

“Sometimes a little _too_ talented-- doin' everything yourself, despite having a _public servant_ waiting in the wings.” He teased her. “ _Let a ghoul help, eh sister?”_

It wasn't _entirely_ unexpected, nor unwelcome, but his _eagerness_ was something that caught her off guard. She usually had something to say, something sly to come back with, but for some reason all she could focus on was the ticklish clutch of her gut as his fingers gathered up the material of her shirt in their traveling to her bust, squeezing fitfully enough to expose an inch of skin at her belly.

“ _Hancock--”_ She muttered, squirming slightly, but not in earnest. “C'mon, we've got the whole night--”

“ _That's right.”_ He agreed, but it was with an entirely different tone. One hand remained up, keeping her tight to him, while the other traveled _down._ The thin ribbon of skin that had been exposed was soon graced with the specific texture of his skin; rough, but not terribly so. Like callous, only it was all over; somewhat leathery and unique. His entire palm invaded through that opening, hard against her belly as fingertips sought out a path further south. “We've got the _whole night--_ and I didn't plan on _wastin' any of it...”_ His fingers were ruthless once they found purchase, shoving past the tight fit provided by a belt she was wearing. _“Did you?”_

Her breath shuddered. No part of her wanted to tell him no-- the _rush_ was enough to make her ignore the metal edge digging into the back of her neck, and forget how doggedly exhausted she'd been after their long trek here... particularly lugging her own weight in _lead_ along the way.

In her hesitation, he'd gotten far enough to make a more intimate contact-- damnably persistent, like ivy finding the cracks in brickwork to wheedle its way in.

He pressed in against her, too certain to be deterred by straps and clothes. Barriers had been passed without any show of manners, _knowing_ her well enough that if he was unwanted she would have thrown him off by now... and getting a sweet gasp as his reward.

“ _There we go.”_ His smile was evident in his tone-- no, not a smile, a _grin--_ a _smug, shit-eating grin._ She could imagine how it looked on his face, and knew he'd be wearing it for _hours_ just to make her glare at him.

It didn't matter. Everything he'd done so far was just testing the water in his _puckish, incorrigible_ way. Now he had her, and his wrist twisted as he worked that hand just a little further into her pants before slipping a fingertip against soft flesh. The motion was a sort of rocking of his hand, sliding the single offending finger down between sensitive lips before drawing back upwards with the tip pressed in, working up a little _warmth_ in general and offering up a little tantalizing pressure to wake up the sweet spot for later, stroking her like that as his hips pitched against hers to turn her away from the bin next to the door and instead face her against the closed portal they'd entered through, reinforcing that _he had her._

Without thinking, her right hand came out to brace against the door. Cold metal barely registered, just that it gave her something to _push back_ against as he leaned in harder against her back, idly kneading her breast as he stroked her beneath restrictive layers of cloth and leather.

“ _O-oh... damnit, Hancock--”_

“I was thinking _fuck it,_ actually.” He smirked, still right by her ear for that quip before _finally_ leaning back the necessary inches and releasing her breast to help her get her armor the rest of the way off, although it simply _thudded_ to the floor instead of getting placed in the bin. Pitching his shoulders back, hips pressed forward, grinding against her to advertise himself against her rump. “ _... just like this...”_ He added, losing a little breath as he suggested it, that free hand of his coming _right back_ as if magnetically drawn, this time landing at the top of her hip and sliding upwards to expose a few more inches of skin-- his palm on her back, pushing with his surprising strength to encourage her to bend forward.

 _Bend over,_ actually.

She got his meaning, groaning softly as his stroking remained steady. She didn't resist the push, her hand shifting against the wall as her body dipped lower and her own free hand fumbled with the latch for her belt. The strip of leather resisted her, frustrating her fingers for a few agonizing moments as the sensation of his hand brought on another faint sigh, slipping against her with more ease as her body reflected her own eagerness; building with the anticipation. Then, finally, she managed to yank her belt just the right way for the clasp to loose. The pressure of having his hand shoved in where it was such a tight fit relived, and further tugging released the subsequent button and zipper _before_ they became obstacles... and before her hands became utterly uncooperative.

The lax hem could be yanked down on his side, exposing more precious skin to the evening chill that crept in through the walls. Gnarled knuckles hooked on the fabric, and fingertips got her underwear in the same dragging motion that demanded quick access. The lower she bent, the more he leaned against her, miming what would come in due time. It wasn't until he had her ass bare, pants and underwear drug down below the swell of her hips, that he finally pulled his own body back the inches necessary to attend to a few layers of fabric himself... but he didn't let off touching her as quickly. The hand that exposed her lingered, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin just below the curve of her rump and sending a _tingle_ across her skin, before his weathered palm pressed up and squeezed hard, his thumb sliding up to the top of her hip while his fingers rotated down. Finally, he finished up the groping with a light _swat,_ chuckling behind her.

“ _Fuck_ you look _so good_ like this...” He marveled, and she could hear layers of fabric moving against each other. “I just wanna _wreck you.”_

“ _Shut up and-- nnnn **nnnh--”**_

She couldn't see him, but she _felt_ him; hard and hot against her skin, pressed first between her thighs before he adjusted himself upwards. His finger's rubbing of her had paused, that hand simply anchored there as, from the rear, he worked himself against her, dragging the tip of himself this way and that until he found just the right angle to slick himself up with _her_ excitement... and making her _crave_ him in the process as she flexed her hips back towards him, trying to make it easier for him.

Somehow, _some fucking how,_ she'd gone from exhausted to _needy_ in the span of only a few minutes. It was the kind of eagerness that usually belonged to the young and dumb-- insanity she thought she'd left behind in her teen years, but he always found a way to draw it out of her.

She had no idea how he _did_ that, but she never wanted it to change.

“ _Yeah?”_ His voice had dropped, the word barely differentiated from the heavy sigh it was carried out on. “C'mon, you can moan for me... no one's gonna hear you this time...”

More of him, pressing between wet lips-- and then _more;_ there was resistance, going for it _quick_ like this always meant it was a little rough, but it was the kind of sensation that left her gasping aloud as she went from _craving_ that feeling of him to having him _sink into her_ and remind her just how _good_ it felt. Imagination, memory-- it always fell short, not quite living up to what it was in the immediate reality of the moment. Friction and heat, bound up in an intimate _need--_ just as addicting as any of the chems he slipped into her pockets whenever he thought she looked strung out.

Out of reflex, her jaw clenched tight, denying the urge to moan aloud and her body clenching around him instead. Both hands had applied themselves to the wall, and her breath shook as teeth ground together, _resisting._

“ _Oh shit-- fuck-- if you **squeeze** me like that, I'm gonna...” _

His hips bucked forward after a short draw back, the hand he'd been using to guide himself against her now finding its way to anchor at the crease that formed between her hip and her body as she bent against the wall, yanking her tight against him with the same motion before coming to a sharp stop. She could feel him inside, _throbbing_ and thick, and the jolt made her jaw drop open for a short exclamation to escape her.

Buried, he began to rub her from the front again, abandoning the long strokes he'd used to warm her up and instead zeroing in on where she was most sensitive. Where his opening moves had all been about _pressure_ with maximum contact, using the unique texture of the skin along his bony fingers to get things started, he changed tactics to trace around the now raised bud of flesh between her lips with the tip of his finger. First in languid circles, before finally cutting across to directly flick over her clit; instigating another _tightening_ of her body as her resistance to making noise produced a _shudder_ instead.

“D- _don't--”_ She finally managed to murmur. _“Oh God-- Hancock, you don't have to--”_

This was a quickie-- an opener. She didn't _expect_ this kind of attention; he always made up for it later, after a little Jet got him going again. This was usually the part where he took her by the hips with both hands and _went to town,_ but instead he held her to keep them both tightly together, all while--

“ _F-fuck--”_ A whispered curse, kept lower than a murmur, followed by a greedy breath. He wasn't letting up, despite her telling him he didn't need to bother. She tried to push herself back against him, to antagonize him, but his fingers only tightened their grasp on the side of her hip as he leaned forward over her, ensuring that he was the one in control.

A defined _clutch_ passed through her, centered at her core.

“ _Oh fuck-- **mmmm--!”**_

“ _There you go... c'mon, let it out...”_ He coaxed her, rocking himself back in another short motion before jolting back into her again, letting out a guttural sound of his own as he did so. _“Lemme hear you...”_

It was habit to hold back, to grit her teeth and hold her breath-- _anything_ to keep quiet. Her own fingers, once splayed open against the metal door, curled inwards into fists as the sensation built up, deep and desperate gasps getting drawn in through her nose as her jaw remained tightly closed, lips pressing hard against each other as she _hummed_ and swallowed. Her head dropped down, his touch taking more and more of her focus as his palm shifted and a second fingertip joined the first. The pair applied pressure on either side of her sensitivity, trapping that sensitive bundle of nerves between them before he adopted short vertical motions.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was a new habit. One that liked to _push_ at her old habits and see how long they'd stick.

Toes curled inside her boots, eyes closed without thinking. There was no thinking-- no, just her perception of him; the weight of his body against hers, the grip of his hand, and sound of his breath, all as her body underwent _jolts_ that made her hips continue to try and rock back against his, one of her hands eventually lifting and banging back onto the door as the sensation turned briefly _sharp,_ jaw loosing for a raw gasp between her lips and a guttural _groan. “F-Fuck Hancock, you're gonna--- oh--_ _ **oh-- shit--”**_

“ _Rub you raw?”_ He completed the thought she was trying to articulate, drawing in a heavy breath of his own. His own hips rocked now, a minimal motion of a man that could barely help himself. _“Wouldn't... wouldn't **dream** of it... just **love** the way you **squeeze...”**_

The rocking changed things, introduced that delightful sensation that scratched the ineffable _itch_ he'd aroused in her. _Pressure_ and _friction_ as he kept up his assault on her sensitivity made her knees wobble with a threat to give out, breath viciously driven out of her lungs in a single erotic _moan._

“ _ **Fuck...”**_ He murmured emphatically. _“Sing for me babe... it's so pretty...”_ He encouraged her, pressing his face against the back of her neck as he kept a steady tempo. He was fully against her, laid over her brawny back and abandoning his grasp on her hip to reach forward, those thin fingers of his stealing beneath the buttoned blouse of her fatigues and taking a demanding grasp on her breast; stalled only momentarily by the worn elastic band of her bra. The heel of his hand ground upwards at first, pressing in against her ribs, before he was _pulling_ on her again, ensuring she remained _anchored_ against him as he kept up the _rocking_ motion he'd adopted over more conventional thrusting.

“ _Ah... ah shit... shit- shit-- J-John, **oooooh... oh fuu...”**_

She lost the thread of why she'd been protesting in the first place. Her jaw fell open, and another moan came out; louder as everything began to come together. The movement, his insistent grasp, that very specific sense of _fullness_ within her body and the craving it both satisfied and aggravated at the same time--

“ _Yeah?”_ He breathed against her ear. _“You gettin' there, sweet thing? **… good...** I wanna feel it... And once you're over the edge, **I'm gonna rail you until I burst.”**_

A _thrill_ ran through her, like electricity that danced along her spine. Now that he'd articulated his intention, _she wanted it, too._

“ _C-close...”_ She whimpered, nodding her head faintly. “J- _just like that... l-little higher... rub a little higher... c-can you do circles again...? **Oh... fuck... yes...** little harder...- oh- __**oh god- there- fuck yes-- there--!!”**_

Feverishly murmured coaching that directed him on where the craving was strongest sent her further than she expected to go, her head and chest dipping lower as her elbows bent and her forearms joined her hands in being braced against the door, a defined _shaking_ running through her person as she went up to her toes and the rubber soles of her boots dug into the floor, further flexing her hips back in the desperation to have that sense of _fullness_ as her body seemed to anchor itself on where they were intertwined. More than just laying open, her jaw stretched for her _cry out_ with the rush.

His grip on her changed. He wasn't leaned over her anymore, but pitched back as both of his hands found their way to her hips.

 _God, she could feel him;_ the meeting of their bodies dominated her brain as she felt him _throb_ within her shortly before he changed to much more _active_ motions. There, again, was that surprising strength as he drew back and adjusted himself just low enough to begin taking her roughly, groaning between sharp breaths as his hips shocked against her rump with every thrust.

Her body was still _squeezing,_ still _rippling_ from what he'd just put her through, aware of the force in his every motion as he drove into her tightly clenched core.

“ _A-aah... **aaanngh--!!”**_

A hitch, and his voice gave out for a more primal noise, his motions growing more _hurried_ as she felt his nails digging into her hips. There'd probably scratches to attend to later-- _not the first time._ His breath juddered, followed by a gasp before it was held a moment. All at once, everything came to a halt, a shuddering _swell_ moving up through his flesh that came shortly before a certain _warmth_ spread within her; passed from him to her.

He claimed a sharp breath after, followed by a relieved exhale as his hands loosened. He didn't release her just yet, but he wasn't clutching quite so hard anymore.

“ _...shit_ that felt _too good...”_ He muttered faintly as she tried to regain her own breath. One hand and forearm remained braced on the door, but the other had released to reach backwards for him, flexing her fingers to show she desired another kind of contact, and getting one of his hands in return for the non-verbal gesture. Once intertwined, she squeezed him, and let out a faint and almost _girlish_ giggle.

 _“Too good...?”_ She quested, surprised he'd ever entertain the concept.

“ _Damn right.”_ He lobbed back, squeezing in return. “It's the kind of _good_ a guy gets addicted to... Gotta find us some privacy a little more _often.”_

_Don't have to tell me twice._

This was about the point where bodies needed to come apart; signaled by their hands drifting away from one another after that comforting squeeze... but that process was interrupted.

There was a knock at the metal door Paige was braced up against.

“ _General? Do you have a moment?”_

… _Preston, your timing is a_ _ **disaster**_ _._

She recognized the voice in a heartbeat, and it was exactly the sort of person who had previously voiced his disapproval of her and Hancock's partnership... and he didn't even know about the more _intimate_ details of said partnership. There was a shock associated to hearing his voice at this particularly _compromised_ moment, one that made her face flush as she was excessively thankful for the solid door between them.

More thankful that he hadn't shown up a few minutes ago, when he might have heard a thing or two through that door.

Behind her, she more _felt_ than _heard_ Hancock's muted chuckle.

“I'm a little _occupied_ at the moment, Garvey.” Paige answered back through the door; not entirely a lie. “Is it urgent?”

“ _Just a couple questions I'd like to ask, that's all.”_ Preston's voice answered back. _“Security concerns.”_

That was code for _yes, it's urgent to_ _ **me.**_ Preston had been very particular about security ever since she assigned him to it. Making him wait would prompt more questions later, and possible lost trust with him and his group.

Despite very much _not wanting to,_ it sounded like she was going to need to put her clothes back on for a little while.

“Just a minute, I'll be right out.” She informed him.

“ _Yes, sir.”_

“ _Awee...”_ Hancock quietly cooed, easing himself away from her. “No cuddle time?”

Finally able to straighten up, she shot a _look_ back at him that encouraged him to _shut his face_ before she broke some part of it in lieu of his mostly missing nose... before cracking a smirk. “There's a bathroom behind that partition--” She directed him quietly, muting her voice to lower the chance it would carry. “No hot water, but it's _clean.”_

“Heh, _ritzy.”_ Hancock smirked back. Looking at him, she was able to see exactly how ruffled his coat and blouse had ended up, with trousers only shifted _just enough_ out of the way to get away with what they'd just done. He hadn't made any motion to arrange himself back _into_ those trousers, though, appearing all too comfortable to just let it all hang out. “Is that your way to telling me to _put it on ice?_ Cause if anyone needs cleaning up right now, it's _you.”_

He was right; she was a sticky mess between the thighs, and standing upright allowed for _dripping_ between her legs. Usually she would have insisted on some clean cloth and water to manage _that_ with, but at the current moment? She reached down and simply pulled pants and underwear back up, zipping, buttoning, and straightening both bra and blouse until it was impossible for anyone to know what they'd been up to by simply looking at her... and with only _him_ aware of the specific nature of what was probably going to end up staining her undergarments.

“I'll make _you_ clean it up, later.” She informed him playfully. _“It's your mess.”_

“ _Oooh... **dirty.”**_ He chuckled. “Don't threaten _me_ with a good time.”

Her look hardened, making a motion at him that encouraged him to _shoo--_ the last thing she needed was to open the door and have Garvey catch a glimpse of her companion with his _dick out._ Hancock pouted at her, but ultimately obeyed.

With a sigh, she turned herself back towards the door, hesitated a moment, and then finally grasped the handle to push it open and head out.

Doing so was not unlike a splash of cold water to the face. Twilight was a good hour past, and the night sky was filled with stars without a single cloud to obscure them. There was a stiff wind tonight; enough to snap Garvey's trench coat against his legs and make the man pull up the swell of his scarf a little more to protect his nose and cheeks.

Going from the relative comfort of her little home-made haven, as well as the _heat_ of her recent encounter, into the abrupt _chill_ of the night with a sharp wind in her face could have only been more of a shock to the system if it had been raining.

As she emerged, Garvey looked back to appear in profile to her. The man was always at the ready, laser rifle held upright over his chest and his eyes brightly aware despite the dark of the night. Paige's shack was at the far end of Sanctuary; away from where she'd built housing for the other residents, as well as where she'd set up crops, power generators, and water. Looking down the slight hill her shack sat upon at Preston meant also seeing the lights of the settlement beyond him; the faint yellow glow of something that could almost be called a town as the back-drop to his silhouette and shining gaze.

“Garvey.” She greeted him by his last name; it felt more professional, what with him always insisting on calling her _General_ since she'd helped him revive the Minuet Men and retake their old headquarters. “What can I do for you?”

“Like I said, I just had a few questions...” He answered, peering further up and towards the shack. She couldn't see his face; her abode featured no outdoor lights, and with the glow of the settlement behind him his features were cast in shadow. “... where's the ghoul?”

 _The ghoul._ She could practically _taste_ the disapproval on that one.

“Hancock is taking this chance to wash some of the wasteland out of his clothes.” She responded. “Is your _security concern_ about him?”

“ _No, no,_ of course not. If you trust him, that's enough for me.” Preston assured her. “But, uh...”

“Out with it, Garvey.” She ordered sternly.

“I was manning the watch when you came back to Sanctuary, General-- I saw you brought back your power armor, and it looked like you were carrying a heavy load of supplies. I know you'd _tell_ me if anything were coming for us here, but... I didn't see any of it go out with the traders, and that made me worry. So, I've gotta ask; do you think something nasty is coming up this way?”

She blinked. _Preston thought she was stockpiling for an incoming threat._ She almost wanted to laugh aloud, but couldn't manage it. Instead, she stepped down from her place above him on the hill, coming to stand at his side while still looking out at the settlement.

“No,” She answered him. “Nothing's coming here. I'm preparing for a journey into dangerous territory... I need to upgrade my armor before we head out, and we needed a safe place to rest our heads before we committed. I want every advantage we can get under us before we go.”

A pause. Whatever he expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

“... General, you know all you'd have to do is say the world, and I'd--”

“I'm going somewhere you can't follow.” She responded flatly. _Of course_ he wanted to go with her, probably wanting to convince her to take him _instead_ of Hancock. He considered himself more capable, more trustworthy; the better choice on all fronts.

She'd disagree with him outright, but Hancock also had a very specific advantage over Garvey that would leave him no grounds to argue on.

“I'm going into the Glowing Sea.”

 _Silence._ The pause stretched out for several beats, no doubt as Preston processed what exactly it was she was saying.

“... I see. The armor will protect you from most of the radiation, and your companion is immune.” He observed. “... smart choice.” He added, begrudgingly, before asking, “But _why_ are you going in there? Even _with_ the armor, you're going to need to be carrying your weight in medicine to even have a hope of making it back alive...”

“It's important. That's all I can say right now.”

A month or two ago, she might have told him. Before getting involved with the Underground Railroad, before encountering a synth and the person they were trying to replace at the same time and _very nearly_ killing the wrong one during the confrontation, before learning _exactly_ how the institute dealt with people they didn't want to have around anymore... But now? There was doubt in her mind, about almost everyone. Was Preston really Preston? Or was he just another set of eyes and ears for _them?_ If she mentioned a defector, hiding out in the Glowing Sea, would they somehow beat her to that defector and kill them?

She couldn't risk it. This was her line on Shaun, on her _son._ Right now, the only person she trusted was the one who was going with her; Hancock... and even _he_ didn't know exactly why they were going.

Granted, he hadn't asked.

“... You're sure about this?” Preston quested quietly.

She scoffed. “... barely.” She answered back. “But it's the only way forward I have right now.”

She'd already decided on a direction. Her doubts didn't matter anymore.

“Then I suppose the only thing to do is wish you luck.” He sighed, turning to face her and taking a hand off the stock of his laser rifle to offer it to her. She, in kind, turned to him and took it, sharing a firm shake. “Whatever you're facing, if there's anyone who can survive it, it's you. You already provisioned?”

“Been buying out all the Rad Away and Rad-X I can find.” She confirmed. “Cleaned out every trader between here and Diamond City. Tomorrow morning I take all the lead I've collected and upgrade the power armor to withstand the radiation... and then we'll be suiting up and heading out.” She paused, withdrawing her hand from his. There was something else that had to be said; something she'd been hoping to save until they were on their way out, so there'd be no space to argue about it... but now was probably the kinder time to say it. “Garvey, if I don't come back--”

“You're coming back.” He interrupted.

“ _If I don't,”_ She pressed. “You'll be back in charge of the Minute Men. You _can't_ hesitate from that. We've got enough supplies to last a day out there-- _maybe_ three if we find a place to shelter that's not soaked in rads, like a cave or a pre-war bomb shelter that's somehow intact. If I don't come back to Sanctuary within that time? You need to take over properly and keep up the fight.”

He was quiet. He didn't like it.

“... I don't know if I can live up to what you've done for us, Paige.” He admitted, softly. “But... if it comes to that, I'll do my best by you.”

“... that's all we _can_ do out here, Preston.” She affirmed in kind. “I know you're the man for the job.”

“Let's try not to find out.” He rebutted.

 _That_ time, she let out a faint laugh. “Don't worry.” She told him. “I'll be doing my best, too.” ****


	2. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art featured in this chapter is my own work.

**.:_Distraction_:.**

“Y'know, I don't mind being somebody's _sidecar,_ but I can't say that didn't leave me just a _little_ jealous.”

Paige arrived back inside to find Hancock had straightened himself out to a degree-- enough to tuck himself back into his pants. More than that, he was all but _lurking_ next to the door, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, peering at her as she came back.

The accusation made her scoff. “You're _not_ my sidecar, Hancock.” She informed him flatly. She wasn't that type of person, the sort that could _love it_ and _leave it--_ or mess around on the side. Even if whatever they were _doing_ had been... somewhat accidental at the beginning, and almost intentionally undefined at current, it was something she still considered _real_ and _binding._

Enough so that she'd stopped wearing her old wedding band, although she still carried it.

“Well, whatever kind of conversation you two were having certainly didn't look like any sort _we've_ had.”

“... it was the unpleasant kind.” Paige dodged vaguely. “Wrapping up responsibilities.”

“All nice and _proper, too.”_ Hancock observed, still giving her a _look_ that wasn't entirely certain that he bought it. “If you're the big-bad _General,_ can't you just flip the bird and tell 'em to figure it out themselves? We've been on the road long enough, it's not like they need you here every day... so what _was_ that all about?”

“I'm sorry, _how many_ settlements have we fallen into bed at that had provisions and defenses?” She quested sharply, ready to fire off at him... but stopped short of anything more barbed.

Maybe, from an outside perspective, her exchange with Preston might have looked a little _personal._

Taking a breath, she settled her own back against the door while she explained. “Garvey revived the Minuet Men, with my help-- they look to me for leadership in their major operations, _like_ making sure every settlement has everything they need... and _they_ protect the settlements we've started. You've helped me clear out spaces, set up beacons-- you've seen the work that we do to let regular people build new lives. Seen how close the calls can be when a settlement needs help... If I go and _disappear_ in the Glowing Sea, Garvey needs be ready to take over without a second of hesitation, or those people will suffer. That was...” She paused, glancing back towards the door. “... saying _'farewell,'_ and letting him know what I expect if I don't make it back.”

Hancock blinked, the expression on his face releasing from tight suspicion to a rather more elongated sort of look; the sort where his brow rose up high and his jaw loosened to fall open just a touch. It all came in in a jolt, as if she'd just smacked him with her laser rifle, his arms loosing from where they'd been crossed in front of his chest. After a moment, he leaned forward from the wall enough to re-direct his person and quite _dramatically_ flop backwards; directly onto the pair of beds she'd shoved together and dressed up to pretend they were one bigger bed. He landed with enough force that the salvaged frames creaked in protest, feet kicking up before his boots landed hard on the floor. “Well _shit,_ don't I feel like the asshole, now? … you got a lot of sides to you, sister.”

_Happens when you're a couple centuries old, I guess. I'm sure **you'll** get complicated in a hundred years or so. Assuming you live that long. Running with me seems like a bit of a hazard._

“Now that I think about it, you haven't said why you're heading out that way.” He observed, sitting up again and coming to settle his elbows on his knees, slouched over and looking up at her. “If you got all this on the line, why risk it all to go out there?”

“... it's to do with the Institute.” She answered back; it was her turn to close her posture and cross her arms over her chest. “Figured you were always up to bring the fight to them; I'm trying to find a way to _get_ to them.”

“And you're _damn right_ that I'm always up to raise a little hell, but that doesn't answer my question.” He pressed. “Why are _you_ heading out there, _smooth-skin?_ Something goes wrong with all your gear, and you might come back lookin' like _me..._ not that I'd mind, but that's bum odds. If the rads get to you, more likely is you don't come back _at all.”_ His voice darkened at just recognizing the possibility. For a rare moment, he'd gotten serious. “I know I'm not your only... _friend_ that could take it-- Nick don't care about radiation, and he cares plenty about what the Institute might be up to... _why's it_ _ **you**_ _who's doing this?”_

He had a point-- even if she had her own reasons for not bringing Nick-- not since he'd started _channeling Kellogg._ He wasn't the only one. Codsworth would do literally anything she asked of him, and he couldn't care less about rads, and that robot doctor Curie from that vault would probably get interested real quick if the opportunity were presented to her. Paige had a _range_ of allies to whom that environment posed no risk... but, if she sent them in place of herself? Could she really trust that it would be _them_ that came back?

Robots could be reprogrammed. Anyone vulnerable to radiation would need their own protective gear to come with her, and there was no certainty that they hadn't been _replaced_ since she started sniffing down this path. And Nick...?

Nick was... _solidly_ off the table, for the moment.

It was too important. This wasn't something she could hand off to someone else because the tasks posed less risk to them. It needed to be done, and the only way to _know_ it was done right was to do it herself.

“It's the next step in what I need to do.” She answered back, but the answer felt canned. Like it wasn't enough, not when he was still _looking_ at her like that. He didn't interrupt or press, either-- just _waiting_ to see if she'd go on.

Just listening.

“It's...”

She paused. The way he was looking at her; it tickled a memory. A bleary one, wrapped up in the delirious haze that came with the reckless inebriation and emotional turmoil. It was the sort of thing that could fall out of mind just after, but still existed just at the edges once the hangover passed. All that was needed was a reminder; like the specific face he was making just now; and the way his eyes shined and he stared at her and waited for her to decide on what to say.

She remembered.

* * *

She'd been drunk. The second bottle of whiskey stood half-empty, and she'd skipped the shot glass entirely-- the bot at the counter hadn't offered her one, anyway.

It had been her first time back in Goodneighbor since Hancock had signed up with her. They'd split up for the evening, with her trading their current load of salvage for ammo, lead, and caps before descending the stairs into the Third Rail to find herself a stiff drink and something that could at least pretend to be a soft bed.

She hadn't meant to have so much, really. At first it was just a thing to do, watching people come and go, and listening to the in-house entertainment.

Maybe it was a song. Or a man's face. Or the sound of someone's laugh. That detail was lost, but something had struck her.

Something had gotten her _thinking,_ and that was the _last_ thing she wanted to do.

She had wanted to drown the thought. Every time it rose up in her head, she slung the bottle back.

It distracted her.

She remembered a hand on her back. She remembered reacting to it by throwing an elbow backwards, slipping off the stool at the bar, and preparing to drop whomever had touched her to the floor.

Instead, she was the one who was nearly dropped as her legs gave out from under her, her head _swimming_ as all the fuzzy heat that had been settled in her stomach found its way to her head.

“ _Whoa_ there, sister... I'm usually the last one to stop the party, but you look like you've had enough.”

Hancock was the one who had touched her back, and stopped her from hitting the floor like a ton of bricks.

She didn't remember leaving the bar, just leaning on Hancock like he was a living crutch. She had the half-empty bottle in her free hand; a little something for the road. There were stairs-- _too many fucking stairs,_ and then a different place entirely. 

The mayor's residence, wherein her ass was eased down onto a couch before she could go stumbling to the floor again.

He had taken the seat next to her, put his feet up on the low table just beyond that couch, and threw an arm over her shoulder like they'd known each other for decades. “Can't say I figured you for a _booze hound.”_ He smirked as she found herself leaning his way, all but heaped against his side while her bottle ended up secured between her thighs with one hand gripping the glass neck.

“... old habit.” She'd answered in a dim huff.

She had almost laughed, feeling like that was somehow a joke. _**All**_ _of her habits were old._

Just as quickly as she wanted to laugh, there was a faint lump in her throat. Another swig from the bottle burned it away.

“ _Ya don't say;_ guess this is why you make me carry all the _goodies,_ huh?” He bantered. “... something on your mind, sister, or do you just drown yourself for kicks?”

She normally would have never said. She'd told people about the vault, sure, and had to let Nick in on her missing kid... and all that shit was actionable. She could _do_ something about that. She _was_ doing something about that. Every day was a step closer; a little more preparation, a little more salvage, a little more knowledge-- _it wouldn't be long now._ She knew where she had to go... it was just a matter of getting together everything she needed to survive it.

But there was a part of it that wasn't actionable. That couldn't be fixed, or chased, or investigated.

The lump was back. She couldn't swallow it down, not even with fire on her tongue.

She was _thinking_ again.

“... ya ever been in love...?” She had wondered aloud. “I... I dunno if people still... _fall in love_ the way they used to...” She slurred, letting out a grunt of effort as she pitched forward, trying to sit up and ending up having to abandon her bottle to brace herself with her hands on her knees. The glass hit the floor, hard, and there was a faint splash of wasted whiskey as her body wavered in the space above her legs; the existence of which her brain was not entirely certain about at the moment. Her skull was a poorly secured balloon, her spine the string that it bounced on, and the rest of her body ranged between _fuzzily warm_ to _numb_.

“... how did people _used_ to fall in love?” Hancock asked her, his tone going a little lower. He lost his jovial humor. She remembered that-- drunk as she'd been, she remembered how _serious_ he'd gotten when listening to her.

_She remembered how he listened._

“... _stupid.”_ She'd decided after consideration. “They useta love _stupid... I..._ I loved _stupid... thought it was all solved._ Like... so long as I had 'em, _nothing would ever have to hurt--_ No matter _what_ the world threw at us... _Thought it was all gonna..._ _ **thought it could never change.”**_

She had still been wearing her wedding band, back then. At that time, the fingers of her right hand had come to her left to worry it; to twist it on her finger and realize it'd loose and easy to move-- almost like putting down miles on foot every day and not always having plentiful food caused a certain amount of _weight loss_ in comparison to the pre-war lifestyle.

Nothing from her old life belonged to her anymore. Not even her ring fit properly.

_Thinking. Thinking about it. About the last day, the last hour, the last moments--_

“... then it did.” She murmured faintly.

The broadcast. The sirens. The frantic run to the vault. Shaun, crying in her husband's arms as she led the way.

“ _Then it did.”_ She repeated to herself.

Panic at the fence. Neighbors shouting at one another. Getting up to the platform. The blast in the distance. The blinding sear and the shock-wave that knocked the trees down as the elevator began to move.

“ _Then it did.”_

The most terrible image. The unchangeable one. The horrible window of wakefulness where she was witness to the worst. The struggle. The shouting-- and then?

_The gunshot._

Her eyes had screwed shut, and a sob racked her shoulders.

“ _... it was so stupid... feeling safe... feeling strong... who could **feel** that way anymore...?”_

His hand was on her back again. Not to get her attention or drag her out of a chair this time... just gently placed, rubbing back and forth.

“... sounds like somethin' special.” Hancock commented softly.

She'd barked out a laugh.

It hurt.

* * *

He never asked her about that night. Not the next day. Not when their relationship became more intimate. Not even when she stopped wearing her ring.

Maybe he was waiting for her to tell him, in her own time.

Maybe now was the time; before they marched into the unknown together. Maybe it was time for him to know everything, from start to finish.

A thought struck her. They were nearby where it all happened. Where everything began-- the vault was just outside of town and up the hillside.

“... can I show you something?” She asked.

“... that depends.” He mused, dark eyes shining as he watched her carefully. His posture didn't change, but somehow she knew his attention on her had intensified; scrutinizing her. Trying to _read_ her. “Do you _wanna_ to show me something? … or do ya think you _hafta_? If this some _Institute-shaped sore spot,_ and you got your own reasons, that's good enough for me. We all got our own shit; you want me to back off, all you gotta do is say so. I was just makin' sure you weren't _running off all on your own again_ 'cause you don't know how to _delegate.”_

That last bit came with a smirk that crinkled his face.

“... it's...” She trailed off, uncertain as to what to do with his reassurance. Did she retreat? Or did she press on? She hadn't decided, and being told that she could clam up again without consequence made it awfully _tempting_ to do so.

“Lemme put it another way.” He suggested, straightening up where he sat and gesturing with one hand to indicate one of two options. “Would you rather crack a bottle on that shelf open and _cry on your ol' buddy Hancock's shoulder_ about all the ugly you got bouncing around in that pretty skull of yours, _ooooor...”_ His other hand came up, indicating a second option with a cheeky smirk. “Would ya rather dig into the chem stash, and let me get to work cleaning up that _mess_ I made earlier?”

_Confession_ or _distraction._

When he put it that way, it made the decision a _lot_ easier. Particularly with _that_ look on his face.

Letting out a deep sigh, there was relief in letting the moment pass. All at once, she knew she hadn't been ready.

_How did he know that before she did?_

She uncrossed her arms and approached where he'd perched himself on the edge of her bed. Arriving, she reached out for him, catching him at the cheek as her other hand pushed up and removed his hat to hang it on the nearby bedpost. He didn't shy from her touch, or protest as she exposed his bald head. Instead, he rather actively leaned into her hand, and looked up at her as she stepped in close.

He had a smile. Not a smirk, a smile-- something soft that knew the relief in letting something ugly go. In accepting now wasn't the time to dig it out of the hole she'd buried it in.

“You know I don't need anything to get going again.” She pointed out softly.

“Well, neither do I.” He smirked, black eyes glittering. “But you gotta admit a little rush ain't bad for... _getting the blood flowing..._ ”

He trailed as she leaned in, gently kissing the top of his head.

He always seemed so _surprised_ when she kissed him. The first time had been like this, too-- something gentle, far from raw physicality as she'd pressed her lips to his brow. The texture of his flesh didn't disturb her-- she wasn't sure anything _could_ after seeing all the creatures the wasteland had to offer. Despite all other features, he was still _human_ to her in form and expression, still a man in every way but his withered shell. And when she kissed him like this? Softly, all but cradling his head in her hands? There was a palpable sense of disbelief she got from him, as if he couldn't comprehend being touched that way.

Easing back, she tipped his chin up so she could smile down at him; a soft and genuine expression that was thankful for him.

“... then again...” He muttered. “Maybe I'll save it for a little while. Slow down... take my time.”

She chuckled at him. _If ghouls could blush, Hancock... you'd be red as a rose._

* * *

She'd called it _loving stupid._

He called it _one hell of a drug._

He meant what he'd said before; about what they did together being _too good,_ _ **addictive**_ _good--_ and not just the hot and heavy parts. Sure, he had _plenty_ to enjoy on that front... but when she _looked_ at him like that?

There was a night he remembered back in Goodneighbor, where they'd split up and he found her later on, drinking herself stupid at the Third Rail, looking like the sorriest sack of shit he'd seen since the last time he looked in a mirror.

Seeing her like that shocked him-- maybe even _scared_ him. They'd only been traveling together a little while at that time; the only side he'd seen of her up until that point was a woman who _got shit done._ Group of settlers held up on the road by raiders? Out came the .50 cal, and she'd drop the fuckers before anyone knew what was even going on. Settlement of ghouls needs help to protect their claim? _Gear up, head out._ Distress call over the radio? Bad bitch is coming, and she's got her favorite laser musket ready to go.

He'd mistaken her for someone endlessly capable, and forgot to even wonder how she got that way. She'd never invited him to question it before then.

He'd taken her out of the bar and led her back to his digs; somewhere quiet where he could wave off all the extra ears and know they'd be left alone. He'd asked what was under her skin, and listened to her troubles.

At the time, he wasn't sure what the hell she meant when she talked about _loving stupid._ He'd chalked it up to drunken nonsense, or rose-colored glasses... but that changed maybe a week or so down the road; when they'd edged up on being more than _just friends_ , and she held his face between her hands and smiled at him like that for the first time in the afterglow.

He was pretty sure he understood what she meant that night in Goodneighbor; drunk and crying about a love she'd lost. A love that had, somehow, made her feel like everything was going to be alright-- so long as the other person was there for her.

He was pretty sure he knew, because he was pretty sure he _felt it._ The stupid, crazy idea that as long as she could smile at him like that? They could take on the world and more. And while she'd bemoaned her condition that night, showed him exactly the kind of grief that came from _believing_ in that feeling and finding out it wasn't true..?

He couldn't help it. He'd gotten a taste of it, and the _rush_ left behind any consideration of what would happen when the crash finally came. He was an addict with a new fix, and _who the fuck cared_ about what happened when he finally came back down to reality?

… he could never tell her. Of course. Whoever came before him? That was a shadow he could never hope to fill. He wasn't worthy of her-- bastards like him could never hope to be that lucky. He'd just... _ride the high_ while it lasted, and keep his stupid mouth shut the next time he felt jealous.

She wasn't his to keep, and he knew it.

He watched as she took a seat next to him and set to getting the heavy Pip-Boy off of her arm before she tucked the thing beneath the bed. She stretched both arms out once the burden was off, reaching forward and spreading her fingers wide before pulling back in and ruffling up her short auburn hair to break it free from the _shell_ it formed while trapped under the metal helmet she wore on the road. Raked through, it spiked up in random directions instead, and left her with that _messy_ look that he preferred over any sort of more orderly grooming. It was like she was shaking out all the tension she carried while traveling, rolling her shoulders up towards her ears before dropping all the weight down and tugging up the hem of the camo-patterned canvas of the fatigues she was wearing. Grabbing and pulling, the buttons of the jacket to slid open in a singled practiced movement to reveal the threadbare sleeveless layered underneath it.

Before she could get any further, an idea struck him... and he wasn't the sort to argue with his impulses.

She was reaching down, probably to get her boots off, but he arrived in time to snatch up her hands and stop her. Getting that look of _surprise_ from her made him smirk, sinking to the floor in front of her and pushing her own palms back at her to press them into her lap. _“Now, now,_ what have I been _telling you?”_ He teasingly scolded her, his own palms resting on her knees as he peered up at hazel-green eyes that hadn't been expecting him to jump in like that. “You can't do _everything_ yourself, Paige... share the load already, eh?”

She didn't answer right away as he turned his attention to her boots, making quick work of the first set of laces. It wasn't until he was tugging at the worn leather, eventually getting her heel loose and the rest coming easily, that she chuckled at him again.

“What's _with_ you today, Hancock...? You're spoiling me...”

The other set of laces, undone and tugged loose. “It's _fun.”_ He informed her with lopsided smirk as he peered back up at her. She'd leaned back just a bit, planting her hands behind her on the bed to support her body as he did away with her boots. The pose all but drew a line for him to eye her up from the worn-out gray fabric clinging to her core, the subtle swell of her chest held tight against her ribs by a merciless sports bra, over the definition of her recently exposed collarbones and neck, and arriving at her face with no shame for the time he took in drinking her in. “Never needed a better reason.”

Her pale cheeks flushed pink, and her other boot came loose.


	3. Weight Distribution

**.:_Weight Distribution_:.**

Upgrading the power armor had been a day of hard labor, starting with melting down all the lead Paige had collected and forming it into plates that could then be welded onto the frame.

It was a day that was _supposed_ to have started at first light... but ended up a touch delayed. For _some_ reason, she'd ended up sleeping in. Almost like _someone_ had kept her up later than planned... although she couldn't complain too terribly much about that. Her new dynamic with Hancock was one that rarely had time for exploration. Settlements were built with bunkhouses where others could wander through, and making camp out in the Commonwealth meant sleeping in shifts to keep watch. The last time they'd been well and truly _alone_ together with even a touch of privacy had been their last stopover in Goodneighbor, and even then there had been a... _concern_ about thin walls and listening ears. A concern that was _exclusively_ hers, of course, but a concern nonetheless.

Clenching her jaw shut and keeping quiet was an old habit; pre-war... and ever since Hancock first _noticed_ that habit, he'd done his level best to break her of it. Last night had been his most successful attempt thus far, and there was a _rawness_ to her throat that made her less than eager to speak at length with anyone today.

Of course, she still needed to.

“Sturges, help me get this up?”

“On it, boss.”

Sturges had been at her side the entire morning, not even questioning the late start. While she'd done the labor of assembling the rigs for smelting down the lead and the molds for the new plates, he was the one who had come up with the schematics before they were built, and been operating said smelter all day to melt down everything they needed to fill the forms and cast the new shielding. He'd even come up with a clever trick to cool the new plates down faster without the metal turning brittle... _theoretically._ It all seemed to be going well thus far.

The moment his assistance was requested, he had both hands out to get the other corners of the breastplate she'd just finished filing the excess flash off of in preparation for fitting and fixing it to the frame... the very same frame, in fact, that Sturges had found and she had used to protect his group back when they first met. It wasn't the only one she had; others had been collected over time, left at other settlements for use in protecting them. In her head, she had them all cataloged and nicknamed. This frame's name was _Anne,_ and in taking the time to check over the breastplate for imperfections, she'd also put in the effort to stamp that name on the top left corner of it.

Between the two of them, the heavy plate was lifted up just enough to pull down the chain hoists that were part of the power armor's maintenance rig; the hooks at the end going through metal eyes before letting it hang, and then using the hoist to do the rest of the work. Once it was level with the chest of the frame, Sturges moved in to start bolting the thing on without a word.

Taking a step back, Paige wiped her brow. The day was pretty mild by all standards, but she'd worked up enough of a sweat to take off the blouse of her fatigues and tie it around her hips. She could feel a wet spot on her back that was likely turning the undershirt transparent.

She couldn't help missing the days of having hot water on demand, and a tub to soak in.

“So what's the plan once you've got this hunk all together?” Sturges quested, projecting his voice over the sound of his tool as he began securing the plate. The arms and legs were already done, as well as the back-plates. Once this piece was over with, the head would be the last part to fuss over... but they'd probably break for lunch before finishing it off. It was getting to be about that time, and hard labor didn't exactly make a person eager to skip meals.

“Eh?” Paige quested blearily.

“Preston mentioned you're heading out into the Glowing Sea; makes sense with all the lead shielding.” Sturges responded, affable as ever. “Wouldn't say what for, and that's fine enough, but that's not exactly a _short walk_ from here to there.”

“There's a settlement near the accessible edge; Somerville.” Paige agreed, nodding faintly. “Traveling from here to there will be a test run on all the connections. If anything rattles that _shouldn't,_ I can fix it up one last time. Rest up, eat, do a final equipment check, and then... _head out.”_

“Ain't you the picture of _over-prepared.”_ He smirked, twisting his head to wink at her, as if to stress he was joking. “You've sent enough lead back here through the traders to outfit _three_ of these things; didn't even need the load you were carrying.”

“Wanted to have enough to screw up.” She pointed out prudently, stepping in as the last bolt whizzed into place and Sturges stepped back after giving the breastplate a hearty slap with his gloved hand. “Considering all the rads, the last thing I wanted was a bad batch of metal leaving a weak spot somewhere on this thing. It's my _lifeboat.”_

“Well, remember that your _lifeboat_ is made out of some _soft_ stuff.” He reminded. “Lead may be heavy and dense, but it deforms pretty easy and has a low melting point. Good for rads, but if you run into some kind of big nasty out there? The wrong bit gets _bent,_ we might need a torch to get you outta your can after it's all said and done.”

“Hancock's got a flamer.” She snickered, knocking her knuckles against the plate before grabbing the edge and wrenching at it. No wobble, no give, no shift-- _good._

“Suppose that'd work in a pinch. Where did your friend wander off to, anyway?”

“Knowing him? Highest place he can find. Man likes a view.”

“You're not wrong...” An additional voice broke in, containing a _smug_ note that might have been entirely too pleased with his timing. “But it turns out the best view is down here.”

Paige turned away from the armor to find she and Sturges had been joined by Hancock in the little covered area that she'd refurbished into a makeshift machine shop, using the bones of the ruined house after ripping quite literally _everything else_ out of it that wasn't load-bearing. The man was practically putting on a one-ghoul parade, wearing a broad smirk and tipping his hat as all eyes landed on him.

Paige grinned. “I know, right? Sturges is too pretty for his own good.”

“Wha-- _h-hey now--”_ Sturges chuckled awkwardly, glancing between the two of them. “Not to say I ain't proud of myself, but...”

“I don't suppose you'd let me _borrow_ him for a little while, would ya?” Hancock's smirk broadened, giving Sturges a _look_ up and down to add to the joke.

“ _Excuse me--?!”_

“We're breaking for lunch, I won't notice if you two happen to disappear.” Paige fired back with a casual shrug, beginning to peel off the leather gloves she'd been wearing while working. When she looked to Sturges, she was delighted to see how _red_ he'd turned while staring at her; aghast that she'd say something like that.

Much as he had earlier, she winked to signal they weren't serious. That didn't seem to help the blush on his face, but it did get him to laugh, seeming to _deflate_ as he did so.

“Maybe next time, _Monkey-wrench.”_ Hancock teased, stepping aside as Paige flopped her gloves over the shoulder of the power armor and stepped out into the sunlight beyond the covered garage. “So, ya get enough lead?” He asked her as she stretched upwards, hands reaching for the sky and humming softly as she went up onto her toes to arch her back and really commit her whole body to it.

“Ah, _fuckoff.”_ Paige huffed-- Hancock had been giving her shit for the overkill she'd collected for at _least_ the last two weeks they'd spent on the road... and generally giving her shit for picking up junk for as long as they'd been running together.

“A-about that lead...!” Sturges followed after them, although he seemed to be giving Hancock at least a foot of extra space, hanging to Paige's other side as he exited the garage and stepped down off the concrete foundation. “Like I was sayin', you picked up enough that we could outfit a whole 'nother set of power armor with shielding. Don't you have another frame at the Red Rocket station just up the way?”

_Damn skippy I do. Keep it stored with the mini-gun, that's Reap. Good boy, but the right leg sticks a little bit._

“Why would we need a second set?” Hancock scoffed as Paige broke out of her extended stretch, hands flying down with force before rolling her shoulders and starting the walk down the gentle slope towards the canteen building. She liked to think it was just good hospitality to put food and a few beds near the entrance of town for traders like Carla. “I mean, _sure,_ I could do with a walking tank if I wanted _everything_ from here to Diamond City to see me coming-- not really my style, and rads aren't exactly a concern over here.”

“Not for you guys.” Sturges shook his head, hesitating a beat before he went on to explain. “Preston... uh, well, Paige, he mentioned you mighta been just a touch worried about what might happen out there...”

_Damnit Garvey._

“Not that I didn't force the issue a bit!” He added quickly as she let out a sharp sigh, covering for Preston. “Man looked like he had something on his mind, was all... And well, you still got that flare gun he gave you to signal for help, don'tcha? But the Minute Men ain't exactly kitted out for that kind of environment, so I thought if we got the message out that if anyone sees a flare from that-o-way, they get on the horn to signal _us,_ and then we send someone who _is_ dressed for the occasion.”

Paige wouldn't mention that she'd literally _never used_ that flare gun... but what Sturges was saying made a lot of sense at first blush. It was something of a back-up plan if things got messy out there. Although... “What about the storm?” She quested-- the smog out that way _never_ cleared, producing a sort of perpetual thunderstorm that sometimes blew out into the rest of the Commonwealth; complete with light rads and the occasional burst of lightening that made the Geiger counter on her Pip Boy click like she'd just taken a dip in a cooling pool at a power plant. If they were too far in, there was no way in hell anyone would see a flare... and if they had to send one up, they'd also need to find a place to _bunker down_ and wait for help. That sounded like a pretty narrow situation to have a plan B for.

“I figure if you're stopping at a settlement near the edge, you can tell them to have spotters watching that way for anything that looks like a flare. Visibility ain't great, sure, but it's better than _nothing._ Plus, soon as the armor is ready, we can send down to Somerville to be on hot standby.”

Paige's lips pursed, considering it. It seemed like a lot of work for an unlikely set of circumstances, and she wouldn't be there to oversee it-- she still wanted to get moving _today,_ and that meant Sturges would be doing the second set completely on his own. Sure, she'd been getting his help with some grunt work on this set, but she'd been doing the majority of it herself. And even if they _did_ get into a situation where they might need help-- say her own armor broke down, who would pilot the other suit that would be able to help her fix it? _Sturges?_ He was a damn good mechanic, but what if he ran into trouble out there? The storm made radios a no-go, there would be no way to warn anyone coming about what they might be walking into...

“Ah, c'mon babe, let the kid help.” Hancock cajoled, throwing his arm over her shoulders to hang his weight on her as they walked; a trio on their way to join the rest of the settlement taking lunch, save for the current guard shift on watch in the towers overlooking the bridge. “Can't hurt to have an extra set of hands waiting in the wings.”

“ _Kid?”_ Sturges balked.

“Shhh, the adults are talking.” Hancock hushed before turning his attention back to Paige, who was serving him with a sour _look._ “I know you don't like lettin' other people do stuff for ya, but it's like I keep telling you-- _ya gotta learn to delegate!”_

She stiffened, upper lip nearly drawing into a snarl. This wasn't about delegation. This was about setting up someone to die on a lost cause if they did try to call for help and ended up stranding another person with valuable skills in the process. Like it or not, she was responsible for the lives in the settlements, and the _last_ thing she wanted to do was ask for one of those lives to be laid down for her sake... no matter _how_ enthusiastically volunteered.

This wasn't their fight. She didn't want anyone under her protection getting hurt for _her_ mission. _It wasn't their problem._

Least, that's how she saw it.

“What's the harm in having an extra set of armor all dressed up for rads, eh?” Hancock prodded.

“That _someone_ might get anxious and decide to use it to go searching before help is asked for.” Paige finally responded, stating her case flatly.

_The last thing I need is Preston running off to search the Glowing Sea because we took too long coming back-- the Minute Men can't afford to have him getting distracted._

“Paige...” Sturges tried to plead.

“ _No.”_ She refused emphatically. “That frame is at Red Rocket because it's Sanctuary's first line of defense-- say you did take it, upgraded it, and moved it down to Somerville, _just in time_ for a raid? You'd leave them without one of their core defenses and risk the loss of life? You'd risk a raid reaching _Sanctuary?”_ She sliced her hand through the air, shaking her head.

“That--” Sturges blinked. “With all due respect, Paige, that's _bullshit--_ Red Rocket is over-defended since the new turrets were installed! I'd wager that place against a band of super mutants at this point, and even _then_ they'd be sittin' pretty.”

The trio had come to a stop, a few yards short of the building that had been erected on the empty foundation nearest to the bridge where people took their meals every day. It was Sturges who had halted first, but Paige had stopped to face him; she wanted this matter settled.

Before she could tell him off, however, Hancock inserted himself.

“Now, now, the boss lady already made her decision.” Hancock soothed, sliding off of Paige and crossing over to Sturges, who clearly looked _uncomfortable_ to have the ghoul entering into his bubble. “Trust me, you travel around with her long enough, you know that she don't change her mind once she's decided-- I'd call it a fatal character flaw, but it hasn't killed her... _yet.”_

_You can snark all you want, John. I'm not getting Sanctuary mixed up in this mess if I don't have to. These people have been through enough._

“But--”

“ _Up-bup-bup..._ no buts, _trust me,_ it's the fast way to get a rifle-stock to the face.” Hancock shushed, using a hand to mime such a hit to the bottom of his jaw and jolting his head for effect. “... _but,_ y'know, now that I think about it... a whole lotta that lead was collected with _my_ help. Apartment buildings, army bases, junkyards-- all with baddies a-plenty. Why, I'd say between _covering Paige's ass_ and _lugging the shit for her,_ at least half of that scrap has my name on it... wouldn't you say that's fair, Paige?”

She blinked. What the fuck was he playing at? Still, she couldn't deny... “... I... _suppose._ We found it together. Going Fifty-fifty is fair if you wanna lay claims.”

“You know what, _I think I do!”_ Hancock was grinning again. “And since _I've_ got finders rights on half that junk, _I can do whatever I want with it..._ like tell our buddy Sturges here to _have at it_ and build whatever the hell he wants.”

_Oh you son of a... **don't enable him.**_

“The frame still belongs to Red Rocket.” Paige pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. She was tempted to _forbid_ Sturges from getting it from them; stopping by to tell them not to hand it over if she had to. The guy had already perked up with Hancock's crafty claim on the salvage they'd collected together, and she could practically see the guy doing the math in his head on how much he could get away with using the stock he'd just been... _donated._

She sighed.

“... you'll have to ask them if they're willing to give it up.”

 _Disbelief_ crossed his face, but it didn't outweigh the determination that caused him to square his shoulders, nor the _elation_ that he'd gotten her to move... with a little help. “Y-Yes ma'am! … after the current suit is done with, of course.”

“You know what?” She considered. “You're done for the day. Go grab some grub and head over... _Hancock_ can help me finish with the heavy lifting.”

“Are you--” Sturges cut himself off before he could finish asking if she was _sure,_ getting cut off with a hard look that made him nod vigorously instead. “I mean... _thank you,_ Paige. Hopefully we won't need it but...”

“ _Get moving,_ Sturges.” She ordered.

“You got it, boss!”

Hancock let out a laugh as Sturges booked it for the canteen, leaving the pair of them standing in the street that ran up through Sanctuary. He watched the guy go, and then turned to find that she was _glaring_ at him.

“Oh, _what?”_ He tested. “Did you _want_ this to be a suicide mission? Guy had a smart idea, let 'em run with it.”

“There is _nothing smart_ about having someone ready to die if we go missing.”

“ _We?”_ He scoffed. “Sweet thing, I donno if you noticed, but that was all about _you--_ looks like your people love you; that's fuckin' devotion if I've ever seen it. I'm just your ghoul-shaped shadow.”

“They don't need me as much as they think they do.” She deflected. “And the Commonwealth needs _them_ alive if they're going to keep making a difference... They all treat me like I've got the magic touch, but I just get the tough shit _done._ They're the ones _running it_ once it's all set up.”

“Ya ever figure they think the same about _you?”_

She blinked, shaking her head slightly as if she were trying to get water out of her ears. Her glare eased off, peering at him quizzically instead. _“Huh?”_

“You, bein' all protective of them, like they're more important to you than _you_ , when you're the one who made all this happen _by_ getting the tough shit done. Way I see it from their side, they'd still be drifters if not for some _stubborn bitch_ with a rifle and a _can-do_ attitude.”

She went quiet for a moment, considering that.

_Not drifters. They'd be dead. Garvey and the others had been pinned down when I showed up-- and if the raiders hadn't gotten them, that pissed off deathclaw would have ripped through that museum like tissue paper._

She jolted back to earth when he clapped a hand on her shoulder, still wearing that _smirk_ of his that never seemed to fall off his face for long.

He didn't have to say anything. She knew he was right. She didn't like it, but she knew it.

“Alright...” She admitted lowly, rolling her eyes, but that didn't cause his to let go of her or stop staring her down. _“Alright, alright!_ You don't have to keep looking at me like that, I get it! _Share the load,_ yadda yadda... ya done?”

“Am I?” He wondered, tilting his head upwards like he had to think about it. “Last I heard, I've got some heavy lifting to help with-- that is, unless you're gonna do it all by your lonesome... though I can name a few faster ways to cripple yourself.”

“... let's go get something to eat before I break your face.”

“Couldn't do any worse.” Hancock snarked, undeterred.


	4. Sorry Stories

**.:_Sorry Stories_:.**

Preston was waiting for them at the bridge.

Paige had expected as much, but that didn't make her any more eager to see him there after passing between the pair of guard towers that acted as the gatekeepers to Sanctuary.

Tromping her way onto the worn timbers of the bridge, each weighty step of the power armor she'd dubbed _Anne_ in her head reminded her that the coming excursion would require a change in tactics. Her usual function was as a sort of _scout_ that searched the horizon, identified enemy positions, and directed Hancock on where to go to raise hell once she started snapping necks with the .50 cal. _Stealth_ had been her advantage on the road long before she had a partner to travel with, and she knew damn well that the majority of tight scrapes she had survived thus far had only _been_ survived because she avoided being _seen_ for as long as possible.

Power armor was antithetical to that approach. Stealth simply wasn't _possible_ when she was this big. A change in tactics would have to be embraced in light of their current load-out; with her prepared for a more direct approach that _expected_ enemy attention from the outset.

Garvey wasn't an enemy, but he was a clear example of the fact that she and Hancock couldn't just sneak out of town and disappear without saying goodbye. Anne was too ostentatious for that.

“All systems go?” Garvey asked as he stepped up to meet them on the bridge.

“ _Juiced up and ready to rumble.”_ Paige remarked, a speaker projecting her voice out of her sealed environment. Aside from the armor itself, she was fully geared up with a pack that was strapped to her chest and contained their supplies for the journey; not only the basics like food and purified water, but all the medicine she'd stockpiled, as well as extra ammunition. Bullets, fuel, fusion cells; this was probably the heaviest she'd ever been while _leaving_ a settlement since her first trek to Diamond city.

“Sturges told me about the extra supplies.” Garvey informed. “He says we'll have that extra frame up outfitted by tomorrow morning. Hopefully we won't need it, but it should be on hot standby within a day.”

“ _Any ideas on who's gonna pilot that sucker down to Somerville?”_ Paige quested, accepting the fight she'd already lost and moving on. _“Whomever you guys send better be able to handle a repair kit **and** a sidearm.” _

“You don't need to worry about that, General.” Garvey dismissed with a shake of his head; he knew her too well. _“But,_ in light of the extra supplies and Sturges's... _enthusiasm,_ I was wondering if I could get you to reconsider what we talked about last night. If you could delay an extra _day,_ we could send an extra person with you.”

“And you figured the best time to ask was as we're on our way out the door?” Hancock spoke up to scoff.

“ _I've already taken enough time, Garvey.”_ Paige refused. She knew _him_ too well-- no doubt he had _himself_ at the top of that list of volunteers. _“You have your own responsibilities to worry about.”_

“Yes ma'am.” He confirmed, quickly snapping back to a more professional tone. “I'll radio ahead to Somerville and let them know you're on your way.”

* * *

They hit Somerville maybe an hour past sundown. The travel had been uneventful for the most part; a few mongrel dogs here, a small group of feral ghouls there, and the occasional bloatfly offering up some target practice and getting Paige used to winding her laser musket whilst her hands were functionally much _larger_ than she was used to them being. The most impactful happening along the way was that it started to rain; something that slowed them down as the ground turned muddy under the heavy steps of the power armor, and kept Hancock on high alert for anything moving through the mist.

The rain was still coming down as they crossed the barrier built around Somerville Place, waved in by a gate guard who was cowering beneath the tin roof of her perch after identifying them with the help of a powerful spotlight. While at first the heavy droplets had slid off of his hat and coat, the damp gradually seeped into Hancock's clothes until he was rather definitively _soaked through._ While Paige had to keep moving to prevent the armor from sinking into the mud, he was tromping on beneath the increased weight of his wet clothes, and he was sure she was as eager to be out of that walking tank as he was to hang up his shit to dry.

Beyond the gate, Hancock was beginning to recognize a certain design sensibility behind the settlements that Paige had directed construction on. He'd seen a few of these places by now, and her fingerprints showed in how things were arranged. Defense was front and center, with a single point of entry and overlooking towers with lights and supporting turrets. Once inside, and the gate was swung shut, the more human element came in; a trough for brahmin to feed at while traders peddled their goods, and a warmly lit shack built up against the inside of the protective wall that was quite like the canteen building in Sanctuary; a place for food, rest, and socialization.

“Paige, _there_ you are! What took you?”

Attention was drug away from near-by amenities by a booming voice coming through the rain from another building; a still-standing pre-war house that had, by definition, seen better days... but had also gotten some TLC in that the caved-in roof had been patched, and the walls still looked mostly intact. Like the canteen, it projected warm yellow light out into the gloom of the rain; suggesting someone had taken the time to fix old wiring. Said light threw the man who had shouted out into sharp contrast that left him more of a shadow on the wooden porch than a recognizable person.

“ _Nathan!”_ Paige shouted back, raising an arm to wave at the shadow. _“Meet us around back, will ya? I gotta get this thing off!”_

 _Around back_ turned out to be a small covered area built against the side of the refurbished house, accessed by treading a narrow path between healthy crop plots that were getting their fill of water with this rain. Around the corner and with a step up onto a concrete foundation, they arrived at what was clearly a workshop for the settlement that had been connected to the old house by way of cutting in a doorway. There were benches, tools, and possibly most important-- a maintenance rig for the power armor where Paige could do the last tune-up before they really got this show on the road.

She didn't hesitate to go straight for the rig. Rifles were removed from being strapped around the torso of the walking tank and placed on one of the workbenches, the heavy canvas bag of supplies was set down on the floor in preparation for removal. After a final spot check, several pneumatic hisses sounded off as the back of the metal shell opened and allowed her to escape. She let out a sound of relief as she stepped down and out, landing on her own feet for the first time in hours.

Finally out of the rain, Hancock took the moment to pull his hat off and try to shake some of the water out of it.

“I _hate_ driving the tank.” She groused, bending forward to rub her legs.

“At least you're _dry.”_ He scoffed back at her.

“Well, if you _bothered_ to radio ahead yourself, we could have told you a storm was rolling in.”

The man who had greeted Paige had come through the doorway that connected this garage area with the house, taking up the entire space-- the guy was _huge._ Without strong back-light, it was easier to get a look at him and put a face to the voice. He had a strong jaw, and a broad smile that pushed sharp cheeks up into brown eyes. Thick black brows sat heavy on his face, giving the sense of a man who was always squinting against the sun, and his skin seemed to reflect similar experience with a reddish-tan that only came from a life lived in the outdoors. A short, rough crop of hair suggested he cut it himself and didn't much care for the activity, and a beard of similar quality made him look like a bristly sort of animal-- but a friendly one.

Hancock had to squint at him. Did he know this guy? … the beard was throwing him off... The nose looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it...

“Little rain never hurt anyone.” Paige shrugged off, standing straight again and coming to meet the man in the doorway. “All quiet out this way?”

“Quiet enough.” Nathan confirmed with a nod, looking over as Hancock secured his hat back on his head. It was an action his instantly regretted, putting the tricorn back simply gave him a fresh jolt of unpleasant cold. “Whose yer friend? Last time you rolled through here, ya had a dog on your heels.”

“John Hancock.” Paige introduced; as good a time as ever for him to step up and join the party in the light from within the house. “Mayor of Goodneighbor.”

“Mayor of...” Nathan's comportment changed, his smile falling off and turning himself more completely to stare down at Hancock. _“... Big Johnny?”_

“Well I'll be... _Lil' Nate!_ What the hell happened to you?!”

“ _Me?”_ Nathan let out a braying laugh. “What the hell happened to _you?_ The last time I saw you, _you still had a nose!”_

“You two... _know each other?”_ Paige quested from the sideline.

“We used to run together when we were kids!” Hancock laughed. “Raisin' hell and causing trouble all over the show whenever his folks rolled in-- I figured the worst when your caravan stopped coming around Diamond City, _where have you been, man?”_

“Roads into the city got dangerous, and we didn't have the caps to pay protection. It's a sorry story, Johnny-- c'mon, there's a stove inside, we can hang up all that wet shit and get the chill out. Sure I got something worth drinkin', too.”

Nathan turned, ducking into the house proper. Paige lagged a moment, serving him a curious look. _“Big Johnny?”_ She asked him, a smirk picking up on her face.

“I used to be taller than him.” Hancock defended the nickname, waving a hand to invite her ahead of him.

“ _Long_ time ago.” Nathan laughed along. “I used to be this tiny _mite_ of a thing, so they called me Lil' Nate.”

“Then you sprung up all at once!” Hancock accused, as if it were his fault, while ducking through the doorway to finally enter in. “Suddenly he was taller than every kid in town, but I wouldn't let it go-- kept callin' him _Lil' Nate_ figuring it might get under his skin.”

The interior of the house suggested a lot of work had been done around its old bones, with old furniture and fixtures leaving shadows where they'd been stripped out. In their place, the main floor had been furnished for a degree of comfort. As promised, there was a wood-burning stove situated in the corner, its smokestack piped outside and the flame behind the grating adding to the warm glow cast by the bulbs strung up along the somewhat exposed rafters of the ceiling. In front of that was a circular table, around which were a quartet of mismatched chairs. Shelving had been installed along the walls, revealing this room to be a stockpile for ammunition and arms as well as a refuge from the elements. There was an extra room tucked towards the back, the doors long gone and the open space instead portioned off by the tattered remains of an old flag pinned up in the space, with the legs of a single bed visible at the bottom. Finally, in the exact middle of the room was a wooden ladder that went up through a hole in the ceiling and attached to a second floor beneath the reconstructed roof... though, whatever was up there, he couldn't see from down here.

With the way Nate carried himself in this space, Hancock suspected he slept here.

“Instead, I started calling him _Big Johnny,_ and it stuck.” The big guy chuckled as he stepped around the ladder and grabbed one of the chairs along the way, dragging it over to the stove with minimal effort and motioning Hancock over. “Ah, _man,_ those were the days... your brother still a _sonofabitch_ or what? And what in the goddamn did you get yourself into that you went _ghoul?”_

“Ah, that's another sorry story.” He dismissed while stepping through, the tricorn being the first thing off to hang on one of the arms of the chair that had been pushed up close to the stove to act as a drying rack. “Small fuckin' world though, ain't it? Suppose it always looks a _little_ small to you from up there, though.”

Calling it a _sorry story_ was parroting Nathan's own language back at him; sounded like they'd both been through some ugly between way-back-when and now. He supposed he wasn't surprised; the world had a lotta ugly in it.

“How'd you end up out this way?” He asked instead, fighting the soaked through red coat to peel it off of his shoulders and feeling a hell of a lot lighter for it.

“When I saved his sorry ass from biting off more than he could chew.” Paige interjected, having come in and all but _draping_ herself on one of the other chairs sitting by the little round table. Her arms were thrown out wide, hands hanging out in open space while one leg remained down on the floor and the other knee went up onto the arm of the chair, _sprawling_ as far as she could while still technically in a sitting position and letting out a _too happy_ sound to be off her feet. “I got news of a raider group that was harassing traders out this way. I find the approach, settle myself in a good vantage point, start scoping things out... and I see this _madman_ about to get himself killed by running straight in. Had to start popping heads before I had the full lay of the land, else he would have been dead in _seconds.”_

_Sounds like someone was mixing his Psycho with his Buffout again. I'm guessing Paige came in at the tail end of whatever sorry story you didn't wanna tell me._

“... not my proudest moment.” Nathan admitted, somewhat sobered. “That was an ugly night for me, barely remember it... when I came to, I was half-naked in the middle of the encampment, covered in blood, with her dog laying on my chest.”

“Dogmeat ain't _my_ dog, Nate-- and he settled himself there so you'd stop thrashing around in your sleep.” She corrected as Hancock continued stripping in the background, utterly shameless in present company. “I couldn't leave you there, either... when he came to, and I found out he had nowhere to go, I brought him here. I figured he'd just sleep it off and wander back into the Commonwealth-- but the next time I come around, what do I find? He's gone and taken charge! Managing food, streamlining security, maintaining walls...”

“I woulda been dead if you hadn't shown up when you did.” Nathan pointed out. “... least I could do was help out. There's kids here. They shouldn't have to know what a raid looks like.”

“Fightin' the good fight, then.” Hancock observed, down to his trousers which, beneath the protection of his coat, had only ended up _mildly damp_ rather than sopping wet. With everything else draped over the chair, he deemed himself fit to join the party. “You say something about a _drink?”_

“That I did!” Nathan quickly switched gears, glad to get away from the current subject and turning himself to the myriad shelves. Paige wasn't sure what he was after when he approached a line of ammo boxes, but pushing aside one of the metal containers on the highest shelf revealed a stash of glass bottles both out of sight and reach of smaller hands. _Smart,_ all things considered.

“We got a preference? Whiskey? Vodka?” Nathan asked.

“ _Wet_ usually works for me.” Paige cracked.

“Dealer's choice, aye.” Nathan snickered, coming to take the last chair with a smirk while spinning the cap off the top of a clear bottle and handing it across to Paige. “Ladies, first.” He encouraged.

“You're gonna regret that-- she'll put down that whole thing herself if you let her.”

“ _Hush, you.”_ Paige shushed him while taking the bottle, tipping it back for a modest swig before handing it back to Nathan, who then offered it to him rather than taking a drink himself. “We've got an early morning tomorrow... Can't go wrecking myself and ending up hungover.”

“So I heard.” Nate observed as Hancock took his turn in tipping the bottle back, handing it back up to their gracious host. _Vodka_ was the choice of the day, and not a bad batch of it, either. “Preston radioed ahead, told us you were coming to us before heading out into the _Glowing Sea?”_

That was the sound of a man who _really_ didn't want to believe what he'd heard. A sort of _say it ain't so_ tone as he took the bottle back in one of his meaty paws and tipped it up himself.

“Yep. Got the power armor shielded up with lead for me-- and Hancock's immune.” Paige confirmed. “Garvey tell you about the rest of it?”

“About keeping a weather eye out that way? Yeah.” Nathan nodded along. “Can't say I like the idea of it, though. Flare goes up, we send someone after you... but how are they supposed to know where to go? No one has maps out there. It's rad-soaked wasteland. Could send up multiple flares, sort of... _repeat the message,_ but we see plenty of nasty shit just off the edges-- scorpions, ghouls, even the occasional deathclaw... firing off more than one flare from the same location sounds like _ringing the dinner bell.”_

“It's... better than nothing.” She sighed, holding out her hand to request another swig, to which Nathan obliged. “That said, I'm worried about who they might send with the back-up frame. We've got a mechanic up in Sanctuary; man's a genius. He's been turning scrap into engines up there. The _last_ thing I want him doing is being the one who goes out after us-- he's good. _Damn good--_ but that's just the thing. _He's too important.”_

_She's still worried about Sturges... fair enough, guy's barely grown up. Practically an excited puppy dog in a man suit. And he ain't a fighter._

“Just cause he drives it down this way, doesn't mean he's gotta be the one in the suit if worst comes to worst.” Nathan pointed out as Paige punctuated her statement by tipping both the bottle and her head back, glugging through a decent chunk of what was in the bottle before handing it back. “You send up an SOS cause your armor is fucked, doesn't mean someone's gotta fix it. Just means they gotta drag you back-- literally if need be. My people could probably improv a sled of some kind that a junked set of armor could be loaded up onto before your mechanic gets here. If he insists, I'll give him the riot act.”

“Nathan, I'm not any more eager to have one of _your_ people volunteer over one of mine.” Paige shook her head, huffing.

“Said my people could build somethin', didn't say one of mine would be piloting your back-up suit.” He smirked. “I owe you one... and I think Big Johnny over here owes _me_ like _six,_ but I was always better at payin' debts over collecting them.”

“ _Excuse me,_ what the _fuck_ do I owe you for?” Hancock shifted forward in his seat, holding out a withered hand to take the bottle after Nate took his turn. His grasp was almost _vengeful,_ playing up his offense at being accused.

It would keep Paige from getting a word in to argue with him.

“You want that list in order of importance or _chronological?”_ Nathan put on a sly smirk. “Then again, you're a big-shot _Mayor_ now, I suppose I could just ask for a pay-off and never mention it again...”

“I'd tell ya to talk to the last guy who asked for a pay-off, but _I cut out his tongue.”_

“So yer sayin' it's a deal? Cause last I checked, _you can't reach my face.”_

“Eh, I can go for kidneys. Work with what you can get.”

Through the course of the banter, the two of them had leaned over in their respective chairs to face-off against one another, both grinning from ear-to-ear as a pause entered in before they both reeled back in their chairs, laughing over the sound of rain beating against the patched roof.

“John, you sorry sack of shit, you haven't changed a bit!”

* * *

“So how'd you two end up running together?”

It was a question Nathan asked after Hancock had apparently dozed off in the chair he'd taken, the mostly empty bottle of vodka leaned against his chest and under one hand. Once the task at hand had been moved off the table, the conversation moved on to other things, and his old friend's participation had declined over time-- he could only assume that the travel had wiped him out. Paige didn't look like she was much longer for the world, either, but another bottle had been procured from the shelf anyway for them to split as they kept the conversation going.

Watching her kick back whiskey like it was water, he got the sense that she had something on her mind she'd rather not think about.

“Did him a favor.” She answered, wiping her mouth on her forearm. “Someone in his town gave him the run-around. There was a confrontation-- things were going to get nasty. I convinced her to walk away.”

“You and that silver tongue.” He snickered, reaching out to take the bottle back. “And what? He just threw in with you after that?”

She nodded a little. “He asked me. Said he was getting _too comfortable,_ needed to get out and remember what life was like on the outside, figured signing up with me was a good way to do that. Told his people he was _taking a walk,_ and that was it.”

_Still playing it fast and loose, huh?_

“So why'd you keep him?”

She blinked at him, making a face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“The last time I saw you, you were traveling with a dog specifically because, _and I quote, 'Dogs do what you tell them, when you tell them.'_ I can think of a lot of words for John, but _obedient_ ain't on the list. Guy never cared much for _other people's_ rules.”

Paige stared at him a second longer, then let out a faint laugh as she nodded along whilst turning her hazel gaze on the ghoul slumped over in his chair. “That... _yeah,_ that's about right...” She conceded. “To be honest, I... I've been in a bad place, for a while. Was when I ran into you, still was when I went to Goodneighbor. Sort of a high point turning into a low point thing-- it's...”

“A sorry story?” Nathan suggested-- the same words both he and John had used to dodge around things they'd rather not talk about. She was being vague as hell-- better to let her skip over the details and get to the point. He shifted his grasp to the neck of the whiskey bottle to the square bottom, pitching his head back for a burning swallow before sending it back her way.

“... _yeah.”_ She agreed, accepting the bottle back once more and not hesitating on taking her swig. She didn't hand it back right away, and he didn't hold out his hand to ask for it as she stared on. She was still looking over at John, and her lips had gone tight as she mused over what exactly to share. Nathan noticed her face had gone somewhat pink... and he suspected the reason went beyond the alcohol.

Finally, she continued.

“I'd picked a way forward that was risky, but he said he didn't mind that. Said something about that just being another word for _fun._ I thought he was some kind of crazy, that he'd toss in with some stranger, not knowing where they were going or why, but... he's stuck on this whole time. Been watching my back, and helping me cut loose once in a while. I didn't expect it, but... out of everyone, he's the one I trust the most right now.”

“... looks like a little more than _trust_ from where I sit, Paige.”

The bottle sloshed as she jerked her head to look at him, eyebrows going high and her mouth open to try and sputter out some kind of quick deflection... but she failed to produce any words, and accepted that failure with an additional swallow before handing the bottle back. “You uh... _picked up on that,_ huh?”

“I know the look.” He confirmed, a rueful smile taking up on his face as he settled the glass bottle in the crook of his arm for the time being. “Maybe that story of yours doesn't have to be sorry all the way through?”

Her cheeks darkened, and she looked away in a hurry.

_Shit, bitch has it **bad.**_

“Maybe.” She muttered, going quiet. _“... maybe.”_

_Something's in the way... what are you afraid of?_

It was a passing curiosity, one that he let go of. It wasn't his business. Shifting, he plonked the now mostly empty bottle on the table between the three chairs, letting out a faint grunt of effort as he got up onto his feet. “I've probably kept you up late enough if you're looking to get out first thing in the morning.” He dismissed. “Want help getting this lump into bed?” The question was asked while jerking a thumb at John.

“Nah, I got him.” Paige was quick to get up, like she was in a hurry to _escape_ from any continuation of the conversation. “He's dumped my ass in bed enough times, I owe him at this point. But uh... maybe we should at least put his coat back on him? The bunkhouse can get cold.”

“There's a bed behind the curtain over there-- I'm on the night schedule, so I won't be using it till morning. Go ahead and crash there.” Nathan offered. “Last thing you need is a grumpy ghoul getting woken up by the rain on the walk over.”

“... does that mean you're supposed to be on _watch?”_ Paige quested pointedly, quirking an eyebrow at him before shaking her head, crossing over to where her companion had passed out and removing the bottle from his chest. Doing so made him stir slightly, mumbling something incoherent before lapsing back into faint snoring.

“Kept watch of you two, didn't I?” ****


	5. Stolen Minutes

**.:_Stolen Minutes_:.**

Hancock didn't remember laying down.

He didn't black out-- he hadn't had _that_ much to drink... but it seemed he'd been more wiped out than he thought, because he'd passed the hell out while Nate and Paige had been talking. He coulda sworn he was part of the conversation, but there was a point where he stopped _saying_ the things that crossed his mind and just settled back into the chair he'd plopped into.

He could guess at dim memories after that; drifting in and out of consciousness once or twice, catching a word here and there; like he woke up _just enough_ to know he wasn't alone in the room before he lapsed back into the soft fuzz of sleep.

Then there had been hands; sure and steady, pulling him up out of his warm spot and carting him off elsewhere on stumbling and dragging feet. He could remember the way he'd been pulled up, with his arm braced over the back of their shoulders by a grasp on his forearm, and their other arm around his back for their hand to grasp him just below the ribs and support his weight whilst he couldn't be trusted with it.

He'd recognized her right away. He knew by the feeling of how she held him.

He knew he'd _meant_ to say something sly, but whether the words actually made it out didn't make the record. Things went dark after that; the comforting kind, with a weight against his back and an arm wrapped around his middle.

Who knew it felt so nice to have someone holding _him?_

That weight moving is what drew him back out of that darkness-- a dim awareness that made him turn on what felt like a fairly decent mattress. There'd even a blanket over top of him, that had shifted when his bed mate moved.

An arm snaked out from where it had been tucked against his own chest as he rolled over, groping blindly to find her again before she could escape completely and catching her around the waist. She'd been maybe and inch off the bed, in the middle of the motion to get up and seize the day, as he pulled her back down and curled his grasp around her.

“... _John...”_

She said his name like she was _scolding_ him.

“ _Mmmhmmm?”_ He hummed dimly, his other arm coming around to ensure she remained snared. She was sitting up, with maybe a leg off the edge of the bed before he snagged her. Tightening his grip, his face ended up pressed into the small of her back, and led to the pleasant discovery that she'd gone down to her underwear and sleeveless shirt to sleep in.

“C'mon, it's time.” She pressured.

“ _Nnnnope.”_ He drawled against the bottom hem of her shirt, tightening his grip on her despite her making no motion to shake him. “I get five minutes. _Minimum.”_

_At least that much, considering what we're about to walk into._

“What?” She asked, incredulous. She was keeping her voice down. Was someone nearby? He didn't hear anybody, but she was always the more vigilant between the two of them... and he was still in grog-town. His senses were focused on _her. “Why?”_ She demanded. “What do you think you're gonna _get away with_ in five minutes?”

That got a faint chuckle out of him, the _spiteful_ part of him instantly wanting to find out exactly how far he could _push_ things just because she'd asked.

His plan hadn't been anything more than what he was doing; dumb as it might have sounded, he just wanted a little time to be awake and with her before they got on with it. This moment? It was nice. _Peaceful._ Usually he hated that-- things being too quiet wound him up the majority of the time; certain that some kind of shit was about to come down the pipe and he needed to get his ass up and moving to get in front of it... but he didn't feel that way right now. Just the opposite; he wanted to linger here. He wanted to savor this moment, with her, and just let it _be_ for a while.

_What the hell is wrong with you, John? You're turning into such a damn sap._

“This.” He answered, truthfully, squeezing his arms around her encircled middle and yanking her back to where she'd been before, nearly knocking her back down to the mattress in the process. She squirmed to stay upright, and the blanket got kicked down enough that his shoulders got exposed to the morning chill.

“H- _hey--”_ She protested, but it didn't last terribly long. Her balance was lost, and her body landed back on the bed. “You... _we were together all night,_ what's five more minutes gonna do for you?”

“Didn't count.” He mumbled. “I was sleepin'.”

A pause. He could imagine the look on her face; probably annoyed, but with a little smile as she rolled her eyes at him. “... alright, _alright..._ five minutes.” She agreed, shifting herself to lay back down properly and comfortably.

Assured that she wasn't going to leave him, he let go so she could better arrange herself. He accepted it when she pushed him slightly to lay on his back, and found himself being used as a pillow when her head landed on his shoulder with his arm outstretched to slot beneath her neck. From there, she cast herself partially on top of him, one arm laid over his chest and one leg cast to cross over his thigh and rest in the empty space in-between his legs as he lay on his back.

With her settled, he could adjust here and there for his own comfort, but found he didn't really _need to_ beyond a few micro-movements.

Satisfied, he turned his head towards her. An impulse had struck him in the grog of having just come out of sleep.

It wasn't the sort of thing he usually did, but he didn't question it. With her body slotted in against his, that had simply felt _right._

In this gentle quiet, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“... John...” She murmured.

When did she start saying his name like that? It was different than when they started.

“ _Hmmm?”_ He prompted inarticulately, his head remaining bent to hers, feeling a smile on his face that he hadn't thought to put there. It had taken over on its own.

Hesitation. Something she wanted to say, but maybe she didn't have the words to say it. At first he waited for that beat of silence, expecting that she'd figure herself out and muddle her way through, but a longer stretch of quiet brought him to shift slightly. His chin dropped, and he lazily knocked his forehead against hers as a sort of half-awake disciplinary action.

“'s too early to be thinkin' that hard, Paige.” He murmured while settling his head back up the way it had been before. “Take it easy...”

She stayed quiet, utterly still for a moment longer. When she did respond to him, it wasn't to say anything... but to lean her own head up, and kiss him in return.

Her lips against his was a surprise; this was all out of order. Affection usually came in the _afterglow._ She kissed him like this _after_ they'd gone after eachother like hounds in heat-- not before. Then again, he usually kissed her in that same context; he'd changed the script first. Gone against some unspoken rule or another in his groggy stupor, and stumbled into something _new._

Whether she was condoning the change, or just following suit, it sent a flood of warmth through his body that was both familiar and not. Sure, he knew that feeling well enough, that craving that casually passed him by at any hour of the day and made him eager to lose some time to his physical vices-- but something was different about it. He _wanted,_ but what that want was for? It tasted different this time.

Shoulders lifted somewhat off the mattress as he turned a little more towards her, chasing after what had been a soft and gentle kiss to coax a little more out of it. He kept his lips against hers, his free arm reaching for his hand to find its way across the bottom edge of her jaw and eventually palm the back of her head as he chanced a small opening to capture one of her lips between his.

She didn't shy, she didn't hesitate. She remained with him, and responded in kind. The arm she'd cast over his chest shifted so her hand could grasp at him, and pull him a little closer until he was laying entirely on his side; all while her head shifted in relation to his and accepted his escalation with parting her own lips to steal one of his.

When they came apart, he finally opened his eyes to _look_ at her.

He was right in thinking it was early; he couldn't detect any light sifting in from the outside, despite minor gaps in the patch job done to broken windows in this space. They weren't in the bunkhouse. Instead, it looked like they were still in the rebuilt ruins of the pre-war house where they'd joined Nathan for drinks-- did he let them crash on _his_ bed? There was still a faint glow coming from that main room, separated off by a flag pretending to be a curtain. His back was facing that way, which meant Paige's face was illuminated by that soft light; her usually sharp and shrewd features softened by the faint glow. Messy auburn hair was a tumult that stuck up every which way, and hazel eyes stared at him in the dark after their exchange.

Did she feel it, too? That it was different? _Why was it different?_

“... think you can keep quiet?” He asked her, his tone having dropped to something near a growl as the craving pulsed through him.

He watched her eyes go wide, a giddy smile spreading on her face before she pulled her lower lip in to rake her teeth over it. _“Are you_ _ **nuts?”**_ She demanded in a hasty whisper. “Someone could be right out there--”

He cut her off, covering her lips again. The contact instigated a _throb_ through his person, the hand securing her head shifting down to scoop up at her back and pull her tight against him. His breath was heavy when they broke apart again.

He was an addict; he knew this feeling. This raw _desperation_ for a new fix as the sensations of his body overrode anything _sensible_ that might argue against the sense of _need..._ only now, the anticipation and release didn't belong to him. It wasn't actionable on his own, but dependent on _her._

The craving had gotten ahold of him, and the idea of letting her go was something he couldn't even _begin_ to entertain.

“ _Paige...”_

His voice was a rough murmur, but also a helpless plea.

In the dim light, he could still see her cheeks color as she glanced between his face and the curtain that kept them at least somewhat hidden from the rest of the room. Her lips were reddened, too, which tempted him to steal them again before she could finish _thinking_ and possibly refuse him. Thankfully, her consideration was finished before he could act, letting out a heavy breath to huff; “... a-alright, _alright,_ _ **fuck**_ _you're a menace... got_ _ **me**_ _all wound up--_ just... _be nice.”_

 _Be nice--_ like he was any good at that; but he knew exactly what she meant by it. In previous romps, he'd gone out of his way to be _rough_ with her-- trying to push her in _just the right way_ to get her to stop clenching her jaw and hushing herself up... but this was different, and not just because of the _exposed_ setting. No, the _feeling_ was different; ending up _needing_ her through soft tokens of affection, instead of his usual incorrigible mischief following along with his truly _colorful_ imagination, had changed the nature of the craving.

His hand slipped down her back and over the shape of her hips, going until fabric ran out and his rough palm could find _smooth, soft skin_ just under the hem of her underwear, pulling at her again as he arched his body against hers. At the same time, his head bent, giving in to the previous thought of capturing her mouth with his. Every point of contact was a reminder of the _difference_ between them; but when she responded to tighten her grip on him? When her hands curled around his bare back and her palms pressed against the withered texture of his flesh, and she let out a soft and sweet _hum_ of enjoyment against his mouth? The difference was _accepted, embraced,_ and heat flooded through his body as she _encouraged_ him to go chasing his new high.

Her weight shifted, like she meant to get on top of him, but he didn't lay back for her. _Too quick, too easy--_ the certainty that the moment she straddled him he wouldn't fuss beyond getting her underwear out of the way just to be inside her as fast as possible, and he'd race ahead without even _meaning to._ He broke from her lips to shake his head, with a gruff whisper of _“Not yet,”_ before he shifted himself in relation to her on the mattress. Specifically, moving himself _downwards,_ slipping from her grasp on him and tugging his arm from beneath her so his hands could attend to her thin shirt. Pushing it up as he sunk down, just so he could steal more little moments of contact against her skin, and appreciate how she _squirmed_ when he paused to kiss her stomach and suck until there was a red mark when he left it behind.

She didn't gasp. She didn't moan. _Tension_ defined her body as he arrived where he wanted to be; his mouth fastening to one of the bony points of her hips as he tugged the fabric of her underwear down her legs. The only audible cue she gave him was to _hold_ her breath as he arranged her just so-- one of her legs faintly bent and rested on the mattress so he could lay his head on it, the other much more deeply bent with her knee pointed up at the ceiling to give him the room he needed to kiss yet another tender spot.

He felt the muscles in her thighs tighten before he even made contact; as she realized what he was doing, and tensed in anticipation.

His head came to rest and one hand slipped underneath her body to get ahold of the side of her hip that was against the mattress. There'd be no _wiggling away_ from him.

When he pressed his tongue over her core, both legs flexed against him, and her hips moved against his mouth as a defined _shake_ passed up through her body. The blanket, which he'd very nearly disappeared under, was shifted until she could put a hand on his head.

He nodded against her, settling himself in and listening as, again, a _hold_ entered into her breath whilst he indulged himself in burying himself between her thighs. She wasn't kidding earlier when she said that _she_ was wound up, and the taste of her anticipation on his tongue intermingled with the very specific _smell_ that caught up in what was left of his nasal cavity and caused a primal _throb_ to clutch at him.

Right then, he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do to her from start to finish.

Her legs flexed again, as if she might close her thighs around his skull with enough force to _crush it_ , as the tip of his tongue zeroed in on the center of her sensitivity. Finer movements, working this way and that, at paying _very_ close attention to how she reacted to him as he explored her with his mouth. Minor reactions, like the leg beneath him bending to put her heel against his back, and her thumb rubbing back and forth atop his head, were signals she gave him when he was close enough to _tease_ just the right spot but hadn't actually touched it yet _._ Provoking something bigger, however, like her hips pitching against his mouth as if she intended to _ride his face_ whilst her breath hitched again? That was the silent version of _oh my god, yes, please,_ and it came through to him loud and clear when he slipped his tongue against her in just the right way.

His hands clamped down harder on her body, sealing himself against that sweet spot to _suck_ on her again.

Her legs jerked; knees tried to move inward and her hips _jolted._ The breath she'd been holding was let out in a short rush, followed by a shuddering inhale that, despite lacking any vocalization within it, was _almost_ as delightful as hearing her moan.

_Almost._

Breaking the seal he'd created, he peered up at her over the crest of her hips. The blanket was still somewhat over his head, tented up by her upraised leg and further shifted by the hand she'd put on him. It created a small window through which he could sneak a glance, and catch her looking down at him with wide eyes and parted lips beneath deeply flushed cheeks.

_Damn, that's a good look for you..._

Staring up at her like that, he could watch her jaw flex further open as he continued. As he curled the tip of his tongue beneath the sensitive bundle of nerves that had stood up within his mouth and made itself more prominent? Her head silently pitched back as a shudder ran through her body. From where he held her hips, all the way up to her arrested chest from which not a single peep of sound had escaped, he watched that subtle _shake_ pass through her. _Felt_ it as the flesh beneath his mouth flexed with a faint internal quiver.  
He knew what would happen if he kept going like this-- she was inches away from clenching down around his skull and bucking her hips against his mouth until he finished her... and tempting as it was to watch her writhe and squirm from this vantage point, he already had a plan, and it involved only bringing her up to this ever-so-tantalizing edge.

She finally vocalized-- a whimper as he pulled his mouth away from her, wiping his face against her upraised thigh before pushing himself up onto his hands and knees to come back up to her. Braced over her with one hand planted next to her head, he bent low to steal away a new kiss, taking advantage of her parted lips to taste her and once again revel in the fact that _she didn't pull away from him,_ but rather raised her head up to meet him and invade him in kind.

His other hand was busy, tugging at the fabric of his trousers until he could pull himself free and press against her without any intervening layers.

“ _John...”_ She whispered plaintively, arching up to him, hot breath mingling between her mouths as they'd barely parted from each other. He knew she was _just there,_ a shift of her head bumping her lips against him and her tongue slipping out to snatch another intimate taste of him as her bodies rubbed together and left him with a rushed exhale that _might_ have been a groan if he wasn't still vaguely aware that Nate could be prowling around somewhere just beyond this little hideaway.

“ _Yeah?”_ He antagonized in a murmur, his free hand coming up to brush through her hair, the wild mess of it springing back up behind raking fingers as her hips rocked up against his. One motion begot another, with him grinding back down against her and experiencing another needy _throb_ as he slid against the wet heat of her core. He was too close to see the look on her face anymore, but that didn't matter; he could hear it as her breath deepened and shuddered, and the sweet whine that she tried to mute in the back of her throat. _“You want on top, now...?”_

She nodded, a motion that bumped her face against his again, silent in her agreement that signaled him to lay to the side before shifting to his back. The blanket got kicked off completely as she arranged herself atop him, straddled over his hips and pressed against him.

He could look at her again, now-- see her sat up in the dim light and admire the expression on her face that expressed the same _need_ that he felt-- her jaw slack and her eyes wide as she slid herself against him. Her threadbare shirt had gotten shifted upwards, the lean definition of her core muscles peeking out and the speckling of a few defined birthmarks along the right side of her rib cage just barely visible. It wasn't enough, he decided, reaching out and grasping the hem, tugging to insist that it needed to come off and getting only mild resistance before she bent her body and let him drag it up and over her head to be casually tossed off to someplace unknown.

She'd taken to removing her bra herself, exposing herself completely as he arched himself up against her with a heavy sigh that forgot about possibly listening ears.

Her body had memories etched into it; scars and splotches of imperfect skin. The pattern of stitches was curved over the left side of her belly, sealing up some precise cut made a long time ago. There was a faded pattern of stretch marks, too, that looked like some set of clawed hands had grasped her on either side of her breasts and lower stomach, but those marks did nothing to diminish his delight in seeing her like this. None of it looked wrong or out of place; they were places of texture he recognized, places where he'd licked or sucked her before and she'd gasped and groaned for him. Seeing their definition more clearly now, it simply gave him a better road map for all those precious patches of tender skin he might tease in the future.

As he stared on, she shifted atop him, space made between their bodies so that she could reach down and grasp him, guiding him against herself. Silence was hard to maintain-- feeling her, _wanting so desperately to be buried inside her--_ and then getting exactly that as she settled back over him? _“--fu-uck...”_ He swore, arching up as his hands found her hips, gripping tightly as the near automatic motion of thrusting up into her body took over any other thoughts he'd been having. The sharp motion jolted her, made her lips part, and a gasp slipped free.

Her knees tightened at either side of him, teeth appearing again to bite into her lower lip while staring down at him with wide hazel eyes. He could feel her clenching, _squeezing._ One of her hands was reached half-way up, possibly to slap over her own mouth, but it never made it to its destination.

_Hell of a view._

A wicked smirk took him over as his hands landed on the swell of her hips, rough fingertips running down to her knees before dragging back up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs in ponderous symmetry as he pushed himself up into her in a _slow, smooth_ motion. He didn't his eyes off her; he _couldn't--_ he had to watch as her jaw loosened and her mouth opened for her lips to shape noises she didn't _dare_ allow to escape... but she couldn't hold her breath anymore, either. She tried-- _fucking hell_ she tried, but every pause was followed by a deeper, greedier gasp that was _sharp_ against the silence around them.

She was _shaking,_ her hips moving with his.

“ _C-close... shhh-shit...”_

“ _Yeah...”_ He breathed, egging her on, one hand braking from scratching patterns into her skin to instead return to where his mouth had been before. He wanted more than just to _feel_ her as she went over the edge; he wanted to _watch._ He saw the twist on her face as the touch surprised her, and then? Then her mouth stretched open, and her eyes fluttered shut as a _spasm_ raced through her body that centered very much around where their bodies met.

Reflex made him buck upwards, huffing out a heavy breath of his own. His free hand fell off of her, nails and heels digging into the mattress beneath them as it all began to _build_ within him.

“ _J-John... oh... **oh...”**_

She didn't scream, or squeal, but _whimpered--_ just before her jaw snapped shut and that half-raised hand finally and desperately pressed over her mouth, forcing each labored breath out of her nose as her core _pulsed_ and _tightened._ She bent forward, her other hand seizing at his shoulder, riding it out as best she could without falling apart. At the same time, she'd gone perfectly still and ridged, leaving him to take over and thrust up into her as he continued steadily rubbing her, trying to drag out the moment for as long as he possibly could while pure instinct spurred on everything else.

He couldn't hang on for long. Not with her _squeezing_ like that. Not when she felt _that fucking good._

Clumsy fingers hastily went from rubbing her to clutching her thigh, the other hand finding skin closer to her knee and pulling on her as the pressure mounted. Everything he'd done to take it slower was left behind as urgency took over, his chest heaving as he insisted on a desperate few seconds of trying to find any way of being any deeper in her than he'd already been before--

“ _ **Nnngg—** mmmm--!”_

It wasn't until after that he realized how hard he'd been clenching his jaw, trying to keep his mouth shut. Not until they were both coming down, exhaling in _relief_ as the need was satisfied.

He'd lost the idea of his body, save the parts that were touching her. He wasn't a person; he was a mass of heady warmth, soaking in the latest hit of his strange new addiction.

She bent further over him, until her forehead bumped against his and her body was resting on him. Her elbows settled on the bed, forearms framing his head and hers moving to the side to press her cheek against his.

“... that was _way_ more than five minutes.” She chuckled softly.

He scoffed. “That's a _compliment,_ sweet thing... What, you mad about it? Want your time back?”

“I didn't say that.” She denied.

She was playful at first, but it faded.

After a few moments, she pushed herself back upright and hefted a deep sigh. “... we should... _it's about that time...”_

He knew she was right. He _hated it,_ but he knew it. The encroaching light was a reminder; this moment wasn't endless. Time was marching on, and they had shit to do.

“Yeah, yeah... just remind me I owe ya five minutes after we're done with this shit.” He suggested, keeping his smirk on whilst reaching up to her. She was still straddle over him, not making any move to fully depart from the bed just yet. “Or... maybe twenty? Your call, really.”

Fingertips brushed her cheek. She leaned into it, and soon her face was rested into his palm while his thumb gently stroked over the definition of the bone.

“Yeah? … and what am I gonna do with that?” She quested, sounding distant and reluctant.

“Whatever you want, Paige... whatever the _hell_ you want.”


	6. Into The Sea

**.:_Into The Sea_:.**

“All the rads a ghoul could ask for... how you doin' in the tank, sweets?”

Paige's response was a faint grunt. However _enjoyably_ this morning had started, there was really nothing that could beat back her discomfort once she was suited up again. There was no stepping lightly with this thing; every step was a _stomp_ that sounded loudly and left tracks behind in the damp earth. Everything _about_ it was antithetical to how she'd survived so far; the only thing that even made her vaguely comfortable was the .50 cal in her hands and its long-range recon scope. With it, she'd hopefully spy any trouble _before_ they tripped right into it.

 _Hopefully._ The constant haze out this way didn't exactly lend itself well to scouting; visibility was in the toilet before they'd even crossed into the worst of the radiation. The external Geiger counter on the rig spiked up while her Pip-Boy kept track of how many rads she was actually picking up from the environment; both of which displayed by gauges within the helm of the power armor. Having both readings let her quickly access just how effective the lead shielding was. So far, it looked to be _very_ effective. Even at the edge, the numbers she was looking at would probably _melt her face_ in under ten minutes if she wasn't surrounded by a sealed environment of dense metal. Clunky as Anne was with her new shielding, it was _worth it._ Add in the tabs of Rad-X she'd taken before they'd set out, and she was about as prepared as she was going to get for this.

She'd try not to be too envious as Hancock casually strode ahead of her, unencumbered by anything besides his flamer rig.

“Try to sound a little _more_ enthusiastic, why don'cha?” He snarked, looking back at her with his lopsided, puckish grin.

“ _I'll find my enthusiasm on the way back.”_ She informed him flatly.

“Yeah, _about that...”_ He mentioned, turning back outwards to the forever greenish-gray mist that was quickly growing thicker the further they ventured in. Paige had never seen anything quite like it before. She'd learned about this region from hearsay; heard that the sky never cleared and that you never knew when things were going to whip into a radioactive thunderhead. The most she'd witnessed before today was when the storms blew out into the Commonwealth from time to time. It wasn't that she doubted the accounts she'd gotten, she'd simply _imagined_ it differently. The picture in her mind had been like seeing a storm gather despite dead air; with the cloud cover up in the sky and the ground clear, awaiting turbulent turns of lightening and rain. Instead? It was more like thick fog that rolled in off the ocean, ominous for its sickly hue and obscuring any manner of unknown things... all of which left Paige's hair standing up on the back of her neck.

John, on the other hand, seemed less than bothered. Just another day on the road, casually carrying on conversation as they worked their way in from the edge.

“Do I finally get to know what the hell we're doing out here?”

She blinked, not that he could see it. She wasn't sure which struck her harder; the fact that he'd finally asked for the particulars, or the _way_ he asked it-- like she'd been guarding that information.

Well, she had been... from pretty much _everyone_ else. She'd been good and paranoid for a long while, ever since finding out just how _perfectly_ synths could imitate the people they replaced out in the commonwealth. There was an old saying among military families that she knew extremely well; _loose lips sink ships--_ a simple phrase that reminded spouses not to share information in any venue where it might be caught by untrustworthy ears. Talking about where a service member was going to be, or what they were going to be doing, was a general taboo that only softened for _in person_ interactions in _secure_ spaces... which, if you asked the military, meant _on-base meetings_ with the FRG and literally no-where else. Some folks didn't even trust their own homes. She was _hardly_ a military operator, but a similar philosophy felt right. If there was even a fraction of a chance that she was talking to someone who might get word back to the people who took her son, _she didn't say shit_ about where exactly she was going or why.

There was a beat of hesitation. They were about as alone as they could get out where; nothing but the increasingly steep hill of upturned and torn earth, intermixed with the trunks of dead trees, fractions of shattered roadway, and the half-buried remains of cars that would need to be conquered before they could claim they'd properly arrived.

“ _There's a defector from the Institute hiding out here.”_ She reported, pausing briefly to put away her rifle by slinging the strap over one shoulder of the armor and ensuring it caught over the flange of the pauldron before committing herself to the upward climb. _“I'm going to find him. Get him to tell me where their base of operations is, and how to get in.”_

Her tone was hard. She had no idea how co-operative this person was going to be... or if they were even still alive. If the Institute hadn't gotten to them yet, there was a chance the environment could have done the job by now. It had taken her precious time to gather up all the materials she'd needed to modify her armor, not to mention the myriad odd jobs she'd done in-between for extra caps-- all of which had gone to the bag of medicine and ammunition strapped to her chest.

Her admission got a low whistle out of her companion. “No shit? Someone got _out_ of that place, and ran _here_ for safe harbor? … think you'll need any help getting information out of 'em? Ah, what the hell am I talkin' about, you'll probably charm the pants off of them a minute after you're in the door.”

“ _It's that or I start pulling **teeth** with whatever's handy.” _Her tone had gone dark, a pause entering in for a second before she went on with a somewhat more sly tone. _“... or maybe I'll delegate that job to **you.”**_

“ _Now_ you're getting it!” Hancock cackled, having slung his flamer up behind his back with one hand and using the other as the reached the top of the berm. Scrabbling over the crest of the debris strewn hill, he returned his rig to a ready position and smirked back down at where she was still a few steps behind. “Gotta get a little _good cop- **crazed monster**_ dynamic going on-- works _every_ time.”

How in the _hell_ did he get her to laugh at a time like this? It was almost despite herself, kicking the toes of the power armor into the dirt to make her own foot-holds where there was nothing solid to step on and clambering up to the top with a final push.

Arriving, she got her first real look at the Glowing Sea.

The ground-level haze was even more intense than she gave it credit for, almost like the way the blast had altered the landscape had created a bowl contained and held the unsettling fog. Despite having left Somerville with early daylight and clear skies perhaps an hour ago, out here the ground, horizon, and sky had all been merged together in a surreal fade of noxious mist and gave the impression of a perpetual twilight. It was disorienting; looking back the way they came gave some hint to a difference in landscape and direction because the mist loosened past the edge of the mound they'd just gotten up and over, but she imagined that would become less true the further in they went. The HUD of the power armor still appeared to know where its cardinal directions were, but if one were just going by sight out here? Getting lost would be _too damn easy._

“ _Huh.”_ Hancock shifted, resting the bulk of his flamer against his hip. “Who knew a place so _irradiated_ could be so _dull?”_

“ _Don't jinx it.”_ Paige reproached, getting her rifle back in her hands, if only to scan the veritable wall of toxic fog for any signs of life on the way ahead of them. The recon sight couldn't penetrate the fog much better than she could, but it did catch swirls and eddies in the fog that alerted her to possible moment on the dead and barren landscape. Ahead, somewhat to the right, along the mostly buried remains of what might have been a paved street a couple centuries ago... _something_ was out there, disturbing the mist. _“... considering what Nathan told us occasionally wanders out into the Commonwealth, we should be ready for anything. We're here on limited time and resources-- I'd rather avoid encounters with **locals** as much as possible.” _

“Yeah, _yeah,_ I know the drill. So what's the game plan? I'm guessing your lead on this defector didn't come with a set of co-ordinates.”

“ _Nope.”_ She confirmed, squinting somewhat at the image she was getting through her rifle sight. _“... which means we got a lot of ground to cover-- figure we start out heading south-south-west, work our way closer to the crater as we go. Keep an eye out for anything that might give us a break from the rads; caves, intact buildings that may have had shelters, that sort of thing. This rig doesn't have any of the fancy bells and whistles that auto-administer medicine, which means while I've got enough Rad-Away to open a clinic, **I'm gonna have to open the suit** to use any of it. If we don't find any rest stops within two hours, we turn around and head back.” _

“Lemme know if you need any help finding a _vein,_ you could say I'm a bit of an _expert.”_ Hancock smirked, making light of things before questing more seriously, “You got somethin' on the scope?”

“ _Something.”_ She confirmed tentatively. _“Group of ferals, I think. I got movement, but it's slow... don't think we've been noticed.”_

“Well then, let's get this freak show on the road.” Hancock smirked, gesturing ahead. “You lead, I'll follow, sister.”

* * *

_Two hours_ might have been an optimistic time limit for exploration before a strategic retreat was required. Paige had been intensely aware of the readouts on her HUD that indicated her vitals, more so with the constant _clicking_ of the Geiger counter being an ever-present reminder that despite everything, she was still taking on a minor amount of radiation with every passing minute. The rising red line at the edge of her view port was already enough to put her on edge and constantly compare its progress to the passage of time; trying to estimate and re-estimate exactly when she'd hit the half-way point between _functional_ and _vomiting mess_ in order to determine the right time to turn back and regroup for another attempt.

That kind of attention paid to an empirical read-out of data only made her even _more_ aware of her body, and the creeping malaise that had become weirdly familiar to her in the months since stumbling out of the vault and into a violently transformed world. It was not unlike the early signs of a spring cold for it's commonality-- the faint lethargy and bodily soreness that could be either _fixated upon_ or _casually ignored_ depending on one's mood and mental desire _not to be sick._ A key difference, however, was that the common cold was generally not a _deadly_ malady if left neglected; just a miserable one.

Radiation poisoning was _both_ if not taken seriously.

“Got something this way.” Hancock warned, catching her attention and turning it away from the southward path she'd been following thus far. He'd been traveling a few steps behind her, making up for her lack of peripheral vision by watching their back and sides. Stopping to look back at him, she found him peering off into the gloom to their left. Following his gaze, she was surprised to see that... there was a _house?_

Indeed it was. A small house, or maybe it could be better termed as a _shack,_ still mostly held together and standing upright. It wasn't untouched; the roof was caved in, the front porch had dipped to the ground as the legs beneath it had long since succumbed to decay, and one of the walls was half-gone. Sorry condition, but compared to other structures they'd seen built out of metal and stone, turned entirely on their sides or buried beneath the vengeful earth? The fact that this little wooden house was still recognizable as such and not just a pile of disparate timbers scattered on the barren landscape was notable.

Something else that was notable? The trio of radscorpions scrabbling at the dirt just short of the collapsed porch, which is _probably_ what her companion had been calling her attention to.

“Gonna give 'em a wide berth?” Hancock quested. They'd been avoiding the majority of encounters-- so far the only fight they hadn't been able to skirt around had been with a cluster of blood bugs that had come after them before Paige had a chance to see them through the haze.

It seemed like the right thing to do-- a little house like that couldn't offer much cover from anything in its current state, and no doubt it was soaked through with the radiation just like _everything_ else... but it could have been sitting on a basement. She'd seen little outbuildings like this covering the entrances to entire underground shelters before.

There was no guarantee, but she had a gut feeling about it.

Taking a knee, she traded the .50 cal for the laser musket. _“No, I wanna check this one out.”_ She told him, cranking up the capacitor to its six-crank maximum, the glass chamber that held the energy taking on a bright red glow. She'd need to make the first shot count-- the second she took it, the scorpions would probably dig down into the loose earth to do their damn _peek-a-boo_ routine. _“Ready to roast these suckers?”_

He actually let out a rough laugh, backing up a few extra steps. He knew how to play this game; she'd draw them in, and he'd burn them when they popped up. “ _Finally,_ I was gettin' sick of sneakin' by.”

She gave him a faint nod, realizing a second later that the small and subtle action may not have translated through the armor and mentally cursing it while allowing one hand to leave her gun to flash him a thumbs-up instead. He returned it, signaling that he was ready.

Turning her gaze back on her quarry, she trained the sight of the laser-musket on one of the three scorpions. They were still a ways off-- a rough shot for most, but she had a good eye, steady hands... and patience. That last one was always key-- a deadly shot was all about _placement,_ to fire once and _know_ exactly how it would hit and the kind of damage it would do. She'd spent a lot of her early days in the wasteland studying the anatomy of the creatures she was unfamiliar with. Anyone could tell you that a brain shot was effective with a human, and the _holy grail_ was snapping the neck just beneath the skull; something she'd heard referred to as _pulling the plug..._ but on other creatures? Mutated beasts that she found herself contending with more often than she would like? She'd taken apart _quite_ a few corpses, studying how the shells of mirelurks came together, or where the soft spots on molerats were. Cracking the carapaces on radscorpions was unpleasant work, but she'd figured out how the plates of their natural armor went together and, more to the point, _where the gaps were._

The ideal shot was right where all their sensory organs were; eyes, mouth, and the membranes that functioned like ears. It wasn't an easy shot; everything clustered together in a tiny zone that could be considered the head of the creature-- or, more to the point, the _face_ of it. Beyond the size, the scorpion's claws were very frequently _in the way_ of that shot unless she was looking at one of them head-on, and that always risked _getting noticed._

Again, however, _patience_ was her greatest virtue. To stay very still, knelt in the dirt, watching as her chosen target turned one way, clawed at the ground, turned another way, raised a claw at another in its party until the other one backed off from whatever patch of dirt it had decided belonged to it at this moment, held the pose an extra second or two, and then--

_A turn her way--_

The window was tiny; no room for hesitation. She took it, the rifle kicking at her shoulder despite the armor between her and it.

In the distance, her target let out a short and shrill scream that cut out an instant later. Its companions, on the other hand, were already burying themselves.

Paige was on her feet at once, backing off of the spot she'd been standing on and hurriedly cranking up the rifle again. There'd be no time for aiming when they came up, and it would be at any second.

The ground directly in front of her erupted, followed by a second explosion of earth, to her right, in the span of a heart-beat. The scorpions arrived out of their burrows, claws-first and taking on their classic threat posture while tails wound up for venomous striking.

Neither were ready for the flames that were expelled across them both by the very next second.

One turned towards the source of the fire; nearer to it and the main section of its body ducking low for its tail to strike blindly at the source-- missing as Hancock anticipated it and readily danced out of the way while concentrating the spray of his flamer on the scorpion that tried to fight him. The other had scuttled backwards, escaping the edges of the searing blast and then making a faint arc around the jets of flame to try and get at Paige again.

Thankfully, that was just enough time for her to fire off another shot; one that impacted the approaching scorpion's tail and sent the spade-shaped tip flying; separated from its owner with a sharp scream and an _enraged_ chitter of mouth-parts.

Sadly, those claws still had some _crushing_ strength, and it was fully focused on her now. She kept backing up, cranking up the energy in her weapon once more, keeping her eye on her target and knowing it was going to be on her before she had the beam fully charged. A different tactic was necessary; these hard-bodies always had natural armor that was difficult to get through... but they were vulnerable to crush damage.

And she happened to be _very_ heavy at the moment.

Gears changed, and her feet dug into the ground as she threw herself forward rather than back-peddling. She led with the butt of her weapon, the stock aimed to knock into one of the upraised claws of the scorpion as it went into it's _threat_ posture again; stood up on its many legs as tall as it could, both monster claws open and lifted high to send the message of _if you come near me I will grab you and crush you._ Bashing one of those claws to the side, Paige _threw_ herself forward, mustering the momentum to actually _jump_ and slip between the grasping claws... and land hard on the main body of the scorpion.

It was a side impact, and the sudden movement below her of the scorpion trying to escape a few hundred pounds being thrown onto its back spun her down onto her face and into the dirt. She'd heard something _crack--_ the carapace hadn't been able to take the sudden shock, but she still hadn't _killed_ the thing because it had managed to throw her and wiggle away. There was no time for analysis, thrusting a knee into the ground and forcing herself upright again, amazed that she'd kept a grip on her gun and twisting herself to try and regain sight of her target.

She was greeted by a fresh gout of bright flame, finishing the job she'd started. The scorpion's back had been broken, sticky ichor welling up through the place where its shell had snapped. It had scuttled out from under her, and right into Hancock's path where he could douse the creature in fire and cause the escaping fluid to boil atop its carapace while the creature thrashed and attempted to change directions only to stumble, attempt to escape into the ground, and suddenly fall still before it was even half buried.

There was a sigh of relief-- these scorpions were bigger than the ones they found out in the commonwealth. She imagined their claws probably could have produced enough force to bend, or worse, _break_ the lead shielding that was protecting her right now.

“Taken out by the best.” Hancock smirked, turning her way and slinging the flamer up over his shoulder with a one-handed grip; as if the thing _didn't_ weigh about thirty pounds and he hadn't been carrying it for hours. Really, every time she wondered about how strong his grip was, she had to remind herself what he carried as _standard equipment._ “You still got all your pieces there, Paige?”

“ _Yeah.”_ She confirmed, getting back to her feet and doing a spot check. The bag of supplies was still securely strapped to her, she still had both of her weapons, and the armor was untouched. _“All good over here-- let's go check that house out.”_

“What's your _exposure_ lookin' like in there? The armor holding up?” John quested as she took the lead again, passing by the _crispy corpse_ of the radscorpion he'd originally engaged. _Char broiled_ was an understatement on that one.

“ _Edging up on 'time to go back', unless I find a clean space to clear my system.”_ She informed him readily, as much as she hated it. She didn't want any more delays; so much work had gone into getting this far, and so much _time_ had been spent. _“... hoping this place has a basement or a shelter tucked under it. If there's nothing here, we're going to need to head back to Somerville and prep for another attempt.”_

“Basement room would probably still be soaked in fallout, sweets.” He noted faintly. “Little shack like that, ain't exactly built for this kind of shit.”

_Probably not-- if it's got a cellar it was probably built for storage._

She knew it was a long shot, but they had enough time to investigate it. They were coming up on the little house itself, now-- which led to another oddity. There were barrels just off of the front porch, with no hint of whether they originated there or were given up by the shifting earth later on. They were, however, stamped with a familiar symbol.

_Radioactive waste._

“... then again, looks can be deceiving.” Hancock muttered.

Paige paused briefly outside, checking the area around them to ensure there was no surprise _forth_ scorpion they'd somehow missed, hiding near-by and waiting for a sneak-attack opportunity. Satisfied, she holstered the laser-musket to clear her hands and continued on into the shack itself.

The broken porch creaked beneath the weight of the power armor, old planks threatening to give way as she stepped across them and through the open doorway into the shack. The door that had once sat in that doorway had long since fallen off of its hinges and into the house, laying on the ground like a faux welcome mat. Rather than wipe her feet, Paige nudged it out of the way before stepping further in and taking a look around.

There was a skeleton in the room; dry bones and tattered clothes, laid out on the floor next to a dropped suitcase. It was the first thing Paige noticed, bones and gore still being something that flagged her attention and made her stomach twist when she hadn't gotten into the right head space for it. These bones were _old,_ however, and that made viewing them a touch more sterile. If she were to guess by the position of the skeleton, she'd say the person who had died had been _reaching_ for something, a hand outstretched.

Following that hand, she saw a rug on the floor, a single corner of it folded back to reveal... the corner of something metal.

_Floor safe?_

She knelt as Hancock followed her in, getting his own look around the room as she pushed the rug the rest of the way back.

“ _Trap door.”_ She marveled faintly; a _hidden_ trap door, tucked beneath a floor rug... with the remains of someone who had failed to reach it before they died. Curiously, she tried the handle that would lift the metal portal up, but it wouldn't budge. _“Tch, locked.”_

Not that a lock was a _problem_ for them.

“Well _damn,_ ain't this getting interesting?” Hancock mused. “You wanna do the honors, Sunshine, or do I get this one?”

“ _All yours.”_ Paige backed off. Normally she was the lock-picker extraordinaire on this team, but that was when she could actually _feel the bobby pin_ between her fingers and trust her fine motor control. John didn't need to be told twice, setting his flamer down and getting down on the floor before extracting the tools he needed from within his frock coat and setting to work. A few seconds later, there was a defined _click_ that signaled an easy victory.

“Jeez, barely worth it.”

“ _Say that after we find out what's under it.”_ Paige suggested, bending down next to him to reach in and grab the metal handle again. This time, the hatch opened readily on surprisingly smooth hinges. _They didn't even squeak._ Below? A metal ladder that led down... and white, artificial light.

“Power armor first.” Hancock smirked, motioning her to descend ahead of him. “ _Weight_ before _beauty,_ or something like that.”

“ _Hancock, one of these days someone is gonna break what's left of your nose.”_

“Then I'll just count myself lucky that _you_ like my face the way it is. Now c'mon, we're burnin daylight.”

She scoffed at him, shaking her head before obliging by stepping down onto the ladder, and descending down into the space below.


	7. Med-Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The location described in this chapter is the facility beneath the Abandoned Shack. While this location is canon to the game, I modified the structure slightly to add an additional room.

**.:_Med Break_:.**

Arriving at the bottom of the ladder, Paige wasn't able to see much of use. She'd arrived in a small chamber entirely devoted to the portal she'd descended from, with a heavy metal door between her and whatever was beyond. Despite this, the small space was still well lit with white bulbs in wall sconces that appeared to still be in excellent condition; amazing considering what intense radiation could do to electronic equipment that wasn't appropriately protected.

“Anything nasty down there?” Hancock quested from the top of the ladder.

“ _Not that I can see-- just a preliminary chamber. I-- Jesus Christ, it's **shielded.”**_

She hadn't realized it at first; the incessant clicking of her Geiger counter had slowed; the sound more easily likened to a faint dripping rather than a fervent rainstorm on a tin roof. She was barely picking up anything down here, and what she _was_ getting would probably cut off once the hatch up above her was closed. Looking around with a finer eye for details, rather than the broad glances she'd made for general threats, she found the walls devoted to some personal cleaning equipment. There was an emergency lab shower rig, and a metal hatch that she could guess at being some kind of laundry chute-- though whether it sent stripped-off clothing for cleaning or _incineration_ was a coin-flip depending on who built this place.

“ _It's **decontamination chamber.** Professionally built-- military or Vault-Tech, probably. Don't see any cameras or scanners-- guessing no automatic decon protocol, and no turrets to enforce compliance. You're safe to come down.” _

“Heavy load comin' first.”

She glanced back up; he had his flamer hanging down by one hand. She got his meaning at once, stepping up to receive it and free up both of his hands. He came a few rungs down the ladder, closed the hatch, and then dropped the rest of the way down; wearing a smirk as his boot-heels rang hard against the metal floor.

With the hatch closed, things were just as Paige guessed; what little radiation was still being detected by Anne was likely just particles stuck to the armor itself, and her Pip-Boy was no longer registering anything actually making it through the lead and into her system.

“ _Your package, my good sir.”_ She smirked as she handed his weapon back to him.

“Can't say I'm used to the _bellhops_ havin' such a beefy _uniform.”_ Hancock snarked back, accepting the heavy flamethrower and making a gesture towards the door with the barrel. “I don't like how easy it was to get into this place... better check the corners before you pop the seals and start cycling medicine.”

She nodded, getting her .50 cal back into her hands before approaching the heavy door that would take them deeper into this... shelter? Maybe, it felt bigger than that. A room for decon suggested an expectation for _coming and going, **after**_ something had happened that would warrant that kind of barrier. The door was the sort with a wheel in the middle that would cause multiple metal bars to shift when turned, and release the attached rods from their spots in the surrounding frame that held the door closed. Grasping it, she encountered surprisingly little resistance in getting it to spin-- even with the power armor, she'd expected to have to push through rust and corrosion of both the locking mechanism and, after that, the metal hinges. Instead? The wheel moved easily, and the hinges slid as if freshly oiled.

That made her tense. Doors didn't maintain themselves-- the hatch they'd come through had also opened far more easily than expected. The _smoothness_ of this entry point suggested recent attention.

 _Someone_ had been here.

“Any chance we just found the hideout of the guy you were lookin' for?”

A reasonable question to ask as she pushed open the door and stepped through into... what looked like some kind of front desk area? Ahead of them was a hallway, a little wider than the decontamination chamber, that let out into a small room with a desk tucked just around the corner. There was a dry water-cooler on the far end, a couple filing cabinets, cork-boards up on the walls plastered with pre-war, pro-military posters, loose leaf papers with obscure scrawled notes, and some scraps that looked to be ripped out of magazines. There was also another heavy door, not unlike the one they'd just passed through, at the far end of this room.

It was strange. The look and feel of this room was not unlike the front desk of any military installation before the bombs fell. This could have been a military ID issuing station, or the housing office, where the person working the desk had just stepped out for a second. It felt so damn _familiar_ to her, in that way... but also... less like the memories she had, and more like the _empty shell_ of one.

She also didn't see any signs of traps or surveillance.

“ _Doubtful. Guy knows he's gonna have people after him, and is the right mix of **smart** and **nuts** to run to the most toxic environment he could find and use is like a shield, but doesn't blockade the entrance or set up anything to spot or stop intruders? This is the perfect bottleneck to set up a small army of turrets, and if the place still has power for **lights,** no doubt a few cameras could be rigged. If the Institute were after me, I'd set a room like this up with a **fat man** lined up with the front door and a **motion detector.”**_

Hancock barked out a laugh. “Wouldn't _that_ make one hell of a doorbell! … still, fair point.”

Coming up to the desk, Paige took note of the objects on its surface. Pens, a 10 millimeter pistol, a heavy typewriter, scattered papers, and the bright orange cassette of a holotape.

Over the edge of the desk, she could spy a wooden chair... and another skeleton, as dry and barren as the one they'd seen topside and reaching for the trap door to get down here. The bones were scattered to one side, partially thrown out of the chair and vaguely held together by the lab uniform worn by the person the remains had once been. Following on from the perceived motion of how the body had fallen out of its chair, there was the ugly brown stain of long-dried blood on the wall, and the pock-mark of where a bullet had ripped through a skull and buried itself in the metal sheeting.

No doubt if she disturbed the bones she'd find more evidence, but there wasn't any need. The scene was pretty clear.

Paige paused for a moment, listening. She couldn't hear anything besides the gentle hum of her armor, and Anne's sensors didn't seem to be picking anything up in their immediate area. While the door on the far side of the room likely led deeper in, where something _could_ be lurking, this chamber appeared to be reasonably secure.

Good enough.

“ _Gimmie a little room, I'm gonna get out of this thing.”_

Hancock didn't argue with her, simply backing off as she turned and faced back the way they'd come from. First step of getting out of the tank was getting rid of all the straps that would get in the way of the back opening up; their bag of supplies had to come off, along with the pair of rifles she was carrying. Next up was triggering the release from inside the suit; a task that required assuming a specific position with the arms slightly upraised and the feet a just-right distance apart; a position that would allow all the back panels to shift, open, and let her out.

There was a momentary pause as the power armor's internal computer flagged that she had the pose right, a green indicator flashing up on her HUD and a circular symbol appearing next to it to flash a warning yellow as sensors scanned to make sure she had clearance. A second later, the yellow symbol flashed over to green, and the rig let out an electronic chirp as the panels popped and she was able to slip herself out of the metal shell.

She damn near _fell_ out of it, letting out a heavy sigh as heavy boots made contact with the ground. She took a second to squat low to the floor and reacquaint herself with all of her joints, rising back up and getting instantly reminded of the lethargy she'd noticed before. Dropping down and coming up didn't exactly do a whole lot for her stomach, and made her thankful that breakfast back at Somerville had been pretty basic fare.

Clearing out her system was a priority, but her first action once she was upright was to return to the desk and pick up the holotape left on the surface of it. Getting out of the armor meant she had access to her Pip-Boy's player, giving the deck on the top a quick tap to make it pop open and loading the cassette in. The voice that came through was a man's, presumably the one whose bones were now scattered over the chair at the desk, and whose blood had stained the walls. He sounded tired, a grim tenor getting her attention at once as she busied herself picking up the necessary supplies from their pack to cycle the rads out of her system.

“ _This is government employee number zero-one-one-nine... oh, **screw** this government bullshit. This is Buzensky. The sirens... they came so fast. Then the alarm. The only ones we could save were on duty. Stevens had left to get something out of his car. Stevens... he's gone. We had to close the door before he could even turn around. Protocol said we had to. I could hear him screaming...” _

Did she know a Buzensky? She didn't. Not in the before-time, anyhow.

“ _That was two days ago. We're already running out of food. This place was not as well stocked as they claimed. God damn budget cuts. If anyone is listening to this, my name is Jeff Buzensky. Tell my wife, Wilma, that I love her. Goodbye.”_

The holotape ran its course as Paige had retrieved everything she needed from the supply bag, putting her back to the wall across from the desk and taking a seat on the floor. Getting access to a vein was the first step, which meant unstrapping the metal plates that she used as armor on her left forearm and the back of her hand before she could roll the sleeve up and out of the way.

“Poor bastard...” Hancock muttered, coming her way to join her on the floor, arriving just as she slid off her make-shift protective gear and helping her with the sleeve without asking, his flamer thumping to the ground next to him to let those thin fingers tug and fold and tug and fold until she was exposed past the elbow.

“Blew his brains out rather than starve to death... Can't say I wouldn't do the same in his shoes.” Paige muttered, a white tin box getting pulled onto her leg with her right hand and flipping it open-- it was the case where she carried sterile supplies needed to mitigate the chances of infection when administering IV medicine; possibly the most valuable things she traded for with Vaults she came across. Rad-Away was useless without a way to get it into the blood stream, and sterile needles were worth far more than their weight in caps. In addition to that; clean gauze, sterilizing supplies like alcohol or iodine, and replacement plastic lines in case the line attached to a found bag of medicine was compromised were all things that she just couldn't get anyplace else, and paid a small fortune to obtain. Probably half of what she'd worked her ass of to gather up had gone to this little box of supplies in pressed paper packages... and that was with a discount, after helping out with that one Vault's _mole rat_ problem and saving that kid. The first item to come out of the box, however, was a rubber band that she handed across to Hancock. He didn't need directions on what to do with it, tying the band at her bicep and leaving her to flex her left hand open and closed to encourage the vein on the inside of her elbow to stand up. “... wonder where his wife lived, if she got caught up in the main blast...”

“Mighta gone ghoul.” Hancock posited, putting his hand out for one of the paper packages to be handed across to him, and ripping it open once received. “Could still be around-- should ask Daisy the next time we're in Goodneighbor. She's got a long memory on her.”

Paige nodded faintly... though she was uncertain which outcome was the _good_ one. If Daisy had known a Wilma Buzensky, Paige hoped to find that the woman was dead, and that this holotape didn't need to be passed into any living hands. _Less cruel,_ that way. Final messages from loved ones who didn't make it...

Her face twisted, a deep frown digging into her cheeks.

She wanted a drink.

Getting back to the task at hand, she fished out a foil package from the white box; one of dozens that were already prepared with a sanitizing solution. She ripped it open with her teeth, and wiped down the inside of her elbow before Hancock took her arm and preformed the needle stick with the smooth expertise of a nurse.

She remembered having fought him the first time he offered to do this for her. She'd been on a scavenging run, maybe a day or two after that stop-over in Goodneighbor where he'd drug her out of the Third Rail and she'd ended up passing out at the old statehouse. They'd gone digging through the remains of an old power plant that had been flooded by its own cooling pool. She'd been hoping to find medicine or protective gear for this very expedition, or spare parts that could be used back in the settlements. She'd expected _some_ radiation with the location; that's why it was choice. Most folks probably wouldn't chance a building like that, which made it ripe for a thorough search... and while she _had_ taken Rad-X to help fortify herself against the expected radiation exposure... she hadn't counted on just _how_ irradiated the water collected in the lower floor of the building would be.

She also hadn't expected to have her shin nearly crushed by a mirelurk while wading through that water. Or to be drug in deeper by said mirelurk before Hancock got down to her with the rage of a devil and a shotgun. She'd managed pulled herself out of that water while he all but _made an example_ out of the mirelurk that probably would have drowned her without his help. Everything about that moment had been sudden, and violent-- she'd ended up gulping some of that irradiated water when she'd been drug under for a horrifying second, and her _pride_ had been bruised by barely being able to ready a weapon by the time he'd finished with the monster.

The vomiting had made it clear that there wasn't any time to delay treatment. She didn't even check the reading on her Pip Boy; she'd just dropped her rifle and dug through wet pockets for her supplies.

By the time he'd gotten over to her, she'd been trying to do all of it by herself; forcing up her sleeve with one hand after barely getting the armor off, fighting to tie off the tourniquet with one hand and her teeth, and greeting his sarcastic offer to help with all the grace of a _wet cat._ She insisted she could do it herself-- she'd done it before, and she'd do it again. _She had to be able to do it by herself._

When she got up to the needle stick, her hand had been shaking. Somewhere between the pain, the adrenaline, and the misery of her guts, there was just no steadying her nerves or her hands. She'd tried, _goddamnit_ she'd tried, but attempts to slow herself down by holding her breath only seemed to plunge her into greater awareness of her twisted and bleeding leg, or her churning stomach as toxic water continued doing damage from inside her system.

He'd just been watching her, telling her _okay_ when she told him she could do it herself, popping a squat and resting on his heels perhaps a foot away while he let her demonstrate just how _self sufficient_ she was. He didn't force his help on her, or take the rig away. His hands didn't come into play until she realized that forcing herself to do this on her own was only going to make things worse-- that a botched needle stick would waste time in a possibly unsafe place while radiation ate away at her GI tract. She'd almost been stubborn enough to force the attempt, but stopped short of it... and handed the catheter over to him.

She remembered him taking it without a word, and a strange, _soft_ sort of smile appearing on his face. Not a smirk. A smile. Less like a silent _told you so_ and more like a _sigh of relief._

… that might have been the first time she let him help with _anything_ that wasn't killing things that tried to _eat_ them out in the commonwealth. And now? Now it was a rote action, handing over the bag of Rad-Away for him to attach it to the line off of the needle, and unclip the plastic stoppers whilst lifting the bag up to let gravity do the work of feeding the rust-colored medicine into her system. The tourniquet was pulled, and she felt the defined _chill_ of something colder than her blood getting unleashed into her veins.

“ _Hate_ this shit.” She groused, leaning her head back against the metal wall behind her.

“Still got a chance to say _fuck it_ and turn back.” He posited.

“ _Like hell.”_ She spat.

“Figured.” He smirked. “So what's the plan from here?”

“Explore this place; it's military. Might be ammo, or useful salvage... and we might find out who's kept the front door nice and oiled.”

Paige had a guess on that one. Another gut feeling, and it was the sort that made her feel like she'd swallowed a stone that promptly sank through her chest down to her tailbone. From stories she'd heard, most folk avoided the glowing sea-- humans didn't go out this way because of the radiation, ghouls shunned it because of how dangerous the local fauna was, and even mutants stayed to the edges of the place because scorpions didn't make good enough hunting to keep a band going for an extended period of time... and while a _deathclaw_ might give you a decent haul of meat, that type of hunt tended to be more costly in either bullets, manpower, or _both_.

Ferals wouldn't oil hinges, no raider would be caught dead out here even if they did get their hands on the right gear. There were no bags of gore or viscera that usually indicated mutants. If there _was_ a community of ghouls out here there, probably would have been someone at the door to tell them to buzz off or at least ask a few questions before they came in-- and there probably wouldn't be the bones of a man who killed himself at the front desk if any kind of community had taken hold down here.

Ticking through those options, that left only one group who might be keeping up the place to make comings and goings easier, but would otherwise leave no sign of habitation.

_Synths._

Paige glanced up at the bag Hancock was holding just a few inches above her shoulder. She still had a little while longer before it finished draining.

“Worried the Institute beat us out here?”

She gave a short nod. That had been the worry for weeks. Once she'd known about the defector, and Kellogg's mission to take him out? That the Institute had known enough to send someone after their missing man? Every day she'd felt the maddening ticking of an invisible clock.

That ticking felt a lot _louder_ right now.

“They'll get theirs.”

Paige blinked, her head rolling along the wall to turn his way and give him a sidelong stare. “Is that _optimism_ I'm hearing?”

His teeth appeared in a grin, black eyes squinting up above withered cheeks. “Nah. I just know a _force of nature_ when I see one. It's like that storm outside-- there's no stopping that shit. And there's no stopping you. Knew that the second you stepped into Goodneighbor. I thought to myself; 'John, that is a woman on a mission... and if the world tries to get in her way? She's gonna _rip it in half_.'”

Sudden heat in her cheeks left Paige without any sort of response, witty or otherwise, for several seconds. When she recovered, it was with a faint laugh, reaching across with her right arm to serve him a punch in the shoulder for making her flush. “This is _hardly_ the time or the place for _sweet talk,_ John.”

“Ain't sweet talk if it's the truth.” He leered, his grin wide enough to take on a Cheshire quality. “... but I'll put it away. _For now.”_ He added with a sly wink.

Paige was half-tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but restrained the entirely petty reflex to simply shake her head while rolling her eyes. How did he _do_ that? Bolster her, and put a smile on her face in moments when she'd be damned to find any kind of silver lining? She didn't even realize it was there until just now-- her lips drawn into that upward curve without her knowledge, and her dour mood lifted up with it. It was something else he helped her with, but unlike the Rad-Away, she'd never given him permission. It was just something he _did,_ over and over again, when she least expected it.

It was something he'd done this morning, too.

There was something she'd wanted to say that morning. It had _almost_ felt right, but maybe the moment was just a little off. It wasn't the sort of thing to say in these circumstances-- unfair. _Terrifying..._ but it had occurred to her anyway.

It occurred to her again, now. In the quiet moments as the last dregs of medication drained out of the IV bag attached to her arm, her brain circled around words her tongue couldn't quite bring itself to form. It was like it had forgotten how to shape them.

“Hey, Hancock...”

His gaze had wandered off, but came back the moment she asked for his attention. “What's up?”

_I wanna talk with you. I wanna have a serious talk about what the hell we're doing with each other. I want to know how you really feel about this. Us._

_**I want to tell you how I feel.** _

“... I think it's time.”

He glanced up at the bag, signaling his agreement with a short nod. A gauze pad came from the white tin, which Paige put in the ready position over the needle. The line from the Rad-away bag was crimped, the needle withdrawn, and the gauze pressed over the hole it left behind as she bent her arm around the two fingers she was using to put pressure onto the open vein. Despite being spent, the entire rig was wound up to be tucked back into the supply bag so the materials from it could be recycled-- the needle placed in the middle of the IV bag and rolled up before the line was used to secure the roll into a tight plastic cylinder. Once the waste was prepared and set aside, the last step of the process came into play-- a stimpak to boost her system and get her body kick-started on the process of replacing the cells she'd already lost to early stages of radiation exposure... as well as get that hole in her arm to stop bleeding and fully heal within the hour.

Didn't make punching it into her skin any more pleasant; she'd let Hancock do the honors.

Once she no longer had to hold the gauze pad on to stem the bleeding, it was time to gear back up and venture on.


	8. Adrenaline

**.:_ Adrenaline _:.**

The way further into the complex was through a heavy metal door that swung as easily as all the others before it, and which Paige took the time to carefully ease shut instead of letting it hang open in its frame. Beyond that? Was darkness; the dim maw of a hallway descending into the faint glow of red emergency lights with a very slight slope, terminating in the pitch void of an open doorway.

Hancock was right beside her, of course; hunched down with his shotgun instead of the heavy rig of the flamer. He'd left the big weapon next to her power armor and their overloaded supply bag, opting for a smaller side-arm that was always strapped to his person somewhere beneath his long red coat. She herself had retrieved the .50 cal, not the laser musket, as it featured a silencer and would serve them better in a stealthy approach.

She also had her pistol, a heavy 10 millimeter that she'd modified to hell and back, strapped to her hip... a back-up in case stealth failed and she needed something easier to aim from the hip.

Passing the door, there was a pause to listen for any movement in the dark... but Paige heard nothing-- save the low and steady hum of some kind of the power in the complex that maintained the lights in the upper section. She waited a beat, ear bent to the silence, before proceeding down the sloped hallway. Steps were slow, rolling heel to toe, with her always faintly aware of her partner directly behind her.

Breath was held at the end of every exhale, pauses in which she listened for _anything_ moving in the dark.

_Steps. Distant, hard-- edges on edges. Metallic. Light._

She stopped just short of the doorway, putting a hand back to find Hancock and stop him before he crashed into her back. A light touch brushed over his jacket before finding his arm to grasp, squeezing as a warning where she didn't dare even whisper. _Something's there._ His response was to freeze, holding position behind her once more.

The sound she was hearing indicated more than movement, it told her something about the space beyond. The way it was conducted-- that there was a thin _echo_ to it, suggesting a cavernous space. It also came from somewhere _below_ them; that said space went _further down._ At first she thought it was continuous, like a patrol route, but that was wrong... where she heard a set of steps that seemed to _vary_ in quality, she realized she was listening to _more than one set of feet,_ all coming back to her after bouncing off the walls and finally through the doorway from different locations.

_How many? More than two, less than five..._

She gave John's arm a squeeze that lasted to the count of three; a signal for him to _stay put_ while she moved up. After that, she let him go and crept up the last foot or so to the threshold into the unknown.

Bringing her rifle sight up to her eye, she was able to see the complex through the night-vision built into the scope; shades of gray with higher contrast, giving her the sharp edges and shapes of objects until she could make sense of them and construct a room in her head. The first thing she understood was the room beyond this hall was _big--_ far bigger than she might have guessed at from the front desk area. It also went down several levels; how far exactly? She couldn't see from here, but she could count three railed walkways from the window she had; balconies overlooking the empty central space.

On one of those railed walkways, two levels down from herself, she saw both exactly what she expected and _dreaded_ to see.

A _synth._ One of the bare-bones gen-ones, with barely any body-pieces to speak of and the interior structure exposed. No clothes, no humanizing features; just a metal skeleton and roaming eyes.

Did synths have low-light vision? Nick had never said... not to mention, he was a gen-two. Who knew what different builds had? Through her scope, it felt as if it was _looking right at her..._ but it turned away, wandering into a doorway and behind cover, apparently unaware of the crosshairs that had been trained upon it.

“Is someone there?”

A voice, _close_ and directly to her right. It was just around the corner, monotone and with a faintly metallic tang that suggested its source was from a speaker rather than organic vocal cords.

Reflex was to hold her breath, to stop in the middle of a slow exhale and hold what was left of it in her lungs. She hadn't heard that one. It wasn't moving; wasn't walking around like the others she'd been listening to, and unlike her... it didn't _need_ to breathe. It had no inherent sound.

So long as it didn't move, she could only _guess_ where it was.

Steps. Not metal-- no, _leather, boots, behind her--_

_John!_

She broke from her scope, gasping in a needed breath as skittered back as he rushed forward, his steps scantly passing her and the doorway before the characteristic _crack_ of his shotgun shocked through her ribs and left her ears ringing.

There was no time to question what he was doing-- it was simply a fact of what had already been done. The fact that her partner was out of cover, and attracting attention. That a shot had been fired very near her, hobbling her ability to hear anything else moving their way. That there was an unknown number of hostiles who presumably knew the complex.

Also, whatever that number of hostiles was... there was solidly one _less_ of them.

In the time it took her to make those assessments, several shots of laser fire had flashed past the doorway. The bright trails left after-images on Paige's vision, but also directed her scope to their source.

There was no space to worry about her partner; he could handle himself.

Steady hands and nerves brought her back to where she'd been not long ago; the same synth she'd sighted before was still in roughly the same spot, aiming up from the slight cover of the doorway it had disappeared into not long ago. It refused to expose its head for her, but its _arm_ was exposed as a target up to the elbow joint.

A narrow shot, and the target moved when the laser pistol in its hand fired, the flash being the kind of thing that messed with the calibration of the scope's night vision and stabbed into her brain as the possible source of a headache. Did she linger to try and make it, or did she try to sight another target?

She held on, a slow exhale capped at the end to slow her heart and induce the stillness she needed to line up on where the synth's arm would appear. It had ducked back behind cover, completely disappearing, but came back an instant later to line up a new shot.

Even with the suppressor, the firing of her rifle as both loud as well as a physical sensation she felt in her flesh. Something that snapped through the air and kicked the bottoms of her lungs, the disturbance of the air as the bullet displaced it something violent and distinct... and, somehow, almost comforting in its stark certainty.

The kick of the rifle pushed her site off the mark, and breath was drawn back in as she tracked back to where she'd been before. At first she was uncertain, but there was a _spark_ just within the doorway where her quarry had been hiding; a loose arc of electricity that flashed white on her scope and hurt as much as the searing laser flashes did, but also assured her that she'd hobbled her target. Lowering her site, she could spy the dismembered metal forearm, still clutching the pistol... which was now precariously hanging over the edge of the balcony.

_One disarmed. Deal with it later. Next._

* * *

Running out had been a snap decision, though to call it a _decision_ was to attribute a great deal more agency to Hancock than he really had in the matter. It was as much a decision as the one a brahmin made when someone whipped it across the haunches to get it moving. A spike of adrenaline had speared him through the back and driven him forward when he heard that synthesized voice, _way_ too close for comfort and pretty much _right next to_ where Paige had settled to scope the place out. In an instant, he'd been out of that hallway and into the darkness beyond, and fired at where that voice had come from the moment he identified its metal frame and white, blank-slate face.

His dark vision had been a lot better since he'd gone ghoul-- he could only assume it had something to do with how his eyes had changed color. Fuck if he knew-- but with the way Paige liked to operate, all cloak and dagger, with him running distraction and causing chaos while she found her targets? It all worked out pretty well.

Granted, he usually didn't run those distractions until she _told him to..._ but, yet again, he _really_ wasn't in the habit of arguing with his gut instinct.

Despite the black of this space, almost entirely devoid of light, he could still understand shapes and faint, washed-out colors. He could still see the synth whose chest-plate he'd just filled with shot; damn near point blank meant there hadn't been much spread, and the thing had gone down whilst sparking and leaking fluid from multiple points in its structure. He didn't wait on it to finish falling down, though, diving in to whip out the butt of his gun against the mask-like face it wore with enough force to tare the material and crack the brain-case underneath, sending up another crackle of electrical sparks as the thing was driven the rest of the way to the floor with impunity.

The molten flare of laser fire cut a searing path only a few inches to the left of his head, and instinct kicked in yet again to send him diving forward in search of cover. The balcony railing was no good; it was just metal piping with no blocking in-between the supports. If he wanted protection from incoming fire, he'd need to put a wall between himself and the fuckers shooting at him. Going back to where he'd come was one option, but he'd already started moving forward, crashing further into the unknown and leaving his partner behind to do her thing.

Forward felt good. Right. Another shot whizzed past him, sounding like it burned the air it came in contact with and leaving a faint trail of radiated heat behind where it came within an inch of raking his back.

He came to the corner of the balcony, no longer able to run _away_ from where the laser fire was coming from, and forced to take a sharp turn to the left.

_Doorway, stairwell, walls, **cover.**_

It was unceremonious, but he arrived with all his pieces, back slamming against the wall as he took a position at the top of the stairwell and gulped in air, panting from the surge. Hands moved automatically to reload while his head swept from left to right, peering both back the way he'd come as well as down the stairwell. He didn't see anything coming at him, but several spots of glowing energy had been left on the wall just beyond the corner he'd ducked behind. If he were to guess, there were at least three shooters that he'd drawn the attention of, all firing from somewhere lower down in this _stupid huge_ bunker they'd found underneath an assuming little ruined shack.

Reloaded, his shotgun was brought back up, held ready as he moved further in; stepping down the stairs and peering beyond the landing.

This area looked like office space; desks, papers, old computers that didn't have any juice left. The air was stagnant, and he could all but _taste_ the dust of a place that had been mostly undisturbed for the last two centuries.

Back in the main room, he heard the characteristic _crack_ of Paige's rifle.

_No time to fuck around, get a move on._

He moved through, checking doorways as he passed them. The office rooms were interconnected, each shared wall having a way to pass through, but only some rooms having a way back out onto the balcony that ringed the main space. A turn was required, quick-stepping past forgotten desks with forgotten files, ignoring the bones of equally forgotten people who had either starved to death down here or done what the guy at the front desk had.

As he entered one side of the room, a synth entered from the doorway at the other end, coming from the balcony. It lacked covering pieces on its limbs, the exposed framing gleaming in the dark, with an Institute rifle raised up and ready to fire.

Energy weapons made a distinctly different sound than solid-ammo arms. Where hard bullets or shot, propelled by the burst of gunpowder sounded off as tiny explosions conducted through tight metal tubes, and kicked against both flesh and bone as tiny bits of metal sheared through the air and left a shock-wave in their wake, energy weapons sounded off with a sort of _strumming_ against multiple notes of a twisted guitar. It was a solid sort of _thrum_ that less split the air than it seemed to _consume_ it, the mass that was projected out from the barrel of the weapon a hot chunk of plasma ejected as a directed beam of energy for the single second it was able to exist before dissipating into the air.

John remembered hearing once that the shot from an energy weapon was as hot as the surface of the sun at the point when it first left the barrel, and the main limiter of its range was how quickly that heat energy _dispersed_ and allowed the ejected material to morph from plasma to gas.

He wasn't sure how true that was, but he sure as hell didn't question it when ducking down beneath the incoming flash, landing behind the desk between him and the Synth as the shot melted into the wall behind him and caused drops of steel slag to roll down form the point of impact like the oozing of silver blood.

“Please come out.”

A monotoned request that actually got him to bark out a laugh, turning below the sight-line of the desk with the momentum of the dive that had gotten him behind it, arriving with his feet beneath him, and springing upright past the far corner.

“ _Why not?!”_

He shouted over the fire of his own weapon, having leveled with the synth's face before pulling the trigger and watching as the shot _shredded_ the metal that encased whatever passed for a brain in these things, the fallen machine stuttering out an error message in some simulation of a final breath while limbs twitched and shuddered for lack of input.

Another shot from the main room. Still the rifle, not the 10 millimeter. Good signs; Paige only switched weapons when she was forced into close range. Maybe the stairs he'd gone down were the only way up to her.

He paused a second to listen. After that shot, he didn't hear any answering fire.

He also didn't hear Paige yelling out any sort of all clear. She had the view from the top-- if things looked good, she would have said something. He kept his guard up, stepping over the synth he'd just smoked and sticking his back to the corner of the doorway before peering back out into the main room.

He was a floor down. Looking up to where Paige had tucked herself, he could see a few spots that had taken laser fire; still glowing faintly orange from the heat, but neither her nor the barrel of her rifle. She'd probably laid herself out on the floor to present a smaller target from below the balcony; she was smart like that. Looking out, he could see another layer of balconies below him before the bottom of the main room, the contents of which were unimportant at this moment. Straight across, he could spy the fallen heap of one synth cast over the railing, the majority of what had passed for a face shattered by entry of a bullet, and the exit having caused the rest of the skull's contents to _burst,_ acrid smoke rising from what remained.

That was one down, but Paige had fired two shots. _Where...?_

Dark eyes were still scanning. Further right, until he was looking almost directly across the room and detected the faint shine of one of the metallic skeletons-- only it wasn't an entire synth. No, just the forearm and hand of one, having fallen over the balcony and landed on the work-floor all the way below.

_Where's the rest of it?_

Rifle fire snapped, and Hancock's head jerked as he heard the impact of the shot. He found the rest of the synth; above where it's hand had fallen, in that doorway directly across from him... and having taken rather direct aim at him with the perfectly adequate use of its other hand.

Lucky for him, someone had been waiting for exactly that kind of opportunity.

“... are you _done_ trying to give me a heart attack?”

He damn near burst out laughing. Her shouting down at him was as good a signal as any; they were clear. “Asks the lady who nearly _crawled right into a synth's knees!”_ He crowed back, resting the barrel of his gun up on his shoulder and turning to go back up the stairs and meet up with her.

The laughter was a tension release. Going back to that impulsive moment, he knew full well what had driven him out of hiding without even a split second to think about it.

_Fear._ He'd been terrified of what might have happened if he _didn't_ draw attention away from her.

Getting to the top of the stairs, he found she'd come as far to meet him in the middle. Unlike him, she couldn't see-- she was groping about in the dark, one hand on the rail of the balcony and the other blindly reaching forward, her rifle slung across her back. She was zeroing in, following the sound of his steps, but he reached out for her to catch her hand with his.

Fingers curled. She didn't grab, she _clutched,_ pulling herself the rest of the way to him in the dark and wrapping him up in a sudden embrace.

“ _... you scared the hell outta me, John.”_

He stiffened. It wasn't what he expected. He'd expected a thump to the chest or a punch in the shoulder. Something playful masquerading as punishment.

Instead she was clutching him for dear life.

_Oh._

“A-heh... _easy_ there, sweets.” He reassured, free hand coming around to return the embrace. “I'm fine, not missing any pieces that I wasn't before... ready to finish up here and get back on with it?”

There was a moment of lingering, almost like she was gathering strength _from_ him. She held on a little longer, drew in a long breath, and let it out as she finally released and stood straight. Shoulders square, head held high-- she had herself back together.

“Yeah. I think I found some kind of switch when I was feeling my way along the walls-- might be a circuit breaker. Flipping it could get us some lights.”

“You mean you can't see?” He smirked.

“ _Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”_ She scoffed, finally giving him the punch he'd been expecting in the first place.


End file.
